


Human

by Qwae29



Series: Perfect Universe [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:43:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9378971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qwae29/pseuds/Qwae29
Summary: Even for a Jedi there is a price for perfection, but what if fate offered a chance at a refund and what would be the cost?





	1. Inevitable Conclusions

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: And here we are, dear reader, at the last leg of what has been a very demanding journey for our two (ex?) Jedi. This story picks up right where Perfect and Imperfect left off. If you have not read these two stories, this one will likely make little sense. For those stalwart followers who have witnessed the destruction of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn, know that this story will completely obliterate the surviving remains, but afterwards, we will rebuild… Enjoy!
> 
> A/N 2: Also, this story will be posted as each chapter is written so expect very slow updates. I’m not joking, but hopefully, the end result will be worth the wait.
> 
> If you are seeking happy endings and fluff, turn away now.  
> Thanks to Maeve Pendergast, my wonderful beta. I couldn’t resist making some changes, therefore the errors are all mine.

**Prologue**

             “Obi-Wan, let me start by telling you that which I could not when we were in the Temple. Qui-Gon Jinn is _not_ dead, at least not in a way that matters to you, and I suppose to me. Do you remember your studies in Ancient Jedi Rituals and Traditions? I doubt it as most students find the course material quite dull when compared to more… invigorating studies, but then again… you were never quite like most students, were you?”

            Here the audio recording paused and though Obi-Wan could not see the speaker, he somehow could hear the Jedi Master’s smile.

            “Pravus Sectis,” Mace’s rumbling baritone continued and all earlier traces of the smile were gone. “It comes from an archaic form of Basic literally meaning,”

            “Wicked cut,” Obi-Wan intoned with the recording.

            “The better known name, however, is ‘The Severance.’ Sectis, in the early days of the Order, was used as a punishment for rogue or dark Jedi. If a Knight or Master was judged to be corrupted by Dark, then the Council could impose Sectis. This was used only as a last resort because Sectis sought to cut the corruption out of the Order by cutting the individual out of the Order.”

            Obi-Wan frowned. Mace’s tone carried a graveness that seemed belied by the simple explanation of the ancient ritual, but Obi-Wan was unsure what he was missing. Plagued with a heavy sense of foreboding Obi-Wan let the recording continue.

            “However, Sectis is not simply an expulsion from the Order. It is a complete and total severance from the Jedi and its ranks. Someone suffering under Sectis would no longer be welcomed by any Jedi. They would not receive help or assistance. They would not be spoken of or to. Their names would be erased from the halls and public records. Their former masters would disavow them. Their padawans would be assigned new masters even if their apprenticeship was complete. Their very Force prints would be obliterated from within the Temple. After Sectis, the corrupted Jedi would not just be dead to the Order, it would be as if he or she never existed.

            “But that is, perhaps, the kindest element of the rite.” There was a long pause as if the Master was trying to pry the words out of his own mouth. “As I said, this is not simple banishment. It is a severance… from the Order and… from the Force. Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon has been severed in this way. That is why I could not answer your questions, why I could not tell you what had taken place. Know that the Council did not choose this for him. Qui-Gon requested it and, despite the fact that never in the history of the Jedi had anyone ever requested Pravus Sectis, it was granted. I’ve included the original text surrounding the rite, but I know it will be of little consolation or comfort.” Mace sighed deeply.

            “Obi-Wan, during the past year Qui-Gon… changed. He… I don’t know how to explain it. I remember what he was like after Xanatos. What he was like after losing Tahl, but this time… I don’t know if there is any coming back for him, especially now that he’s… he’s Force blind, but if there is anyone that can help him, it’s you Obi-Wan.

            “Since I have already broken the Code and a half dozen other rules another violation or two will not hurt overmuch. I have included the various Council, mission, healing, and psych reports regarding Qui-Gon’s state of mind over the past year. I don’t know if they will help, but…

            “For what it’s worth, I am truly sorry, Obi-Wan. Neither you nor Qui-Gon deserved to walk the paths that have been forced upon you. The box I gave you conceals a false bottom. In the compartment you will find what is rightfully yours. Rules be damned.”

            The recording ended and the small cabin was filled with a seemingly palpable silence. Pale fingers, trembling with cold and a sense of foreboding, carefully traced the edges of the box in his lap. With a slight pressure to the nearly invisible indentation, the floor of the box popped askew. Obi-Wan removed the false bottom only to find himself staring frozenly at the glinting casings of two familiar lightsabers.

 

**Part I – Inevitable Conclusions**

 

            Obi-Wan pulled his jacket tightly around his lean frame, struck by yet another chill. The cold had been unrelenting, worsening with each passing hour and day until he felt frozen to his core. He had been travelling from planet to planet, spaceport to spaceport, crisscrossing the hyperspace lanes for over the near tenday.

            At first, Obi-Wan was able to slow the degradation of Master Windu’s mental reinforcements through meditation, but as his shields and support structures became increasingly compromised, so had his ability to forestall the inevitable. Within five days of leaving Coruscant, Obi-Wan was a shivering, sometimes gibbering, mess alternating between states of dull numbness and intense panic. He chose to ride through the worst of the panic attacks within the close quarters of his cabin aboard yet another shabby transport. Had he been travelling alone in a single person vessel he might have fared better, but as it was Obi-Wan had few credits and was therefore forced to make his way on ships teeming with other lifeforms. As a result, it was a daily push against his limits for the young man to retain his sanity. His only comfort came from the two cylindrical weights concealed in an inner pocket of his jacket and even that small comfort came at a terrible emotional cost.

            Obi-Wan’s thoughts had grown heavy and dark ever since he listened to Master Windu’s succinct explanation of what had occurred just prior to his arrival at the Temple. He had listened to the short recording numerous times. He had read and reread the thoughtfully included translation of the Rite of Pravus Sectis and he had reviewed a significant portion of the year’s worth of reports and assessments of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.

            It was the content of many of those readings that led to his most spectacular brooding sessions.

            _Though an effective field agent in years past, Master Qui-Gon Jinn is, at present, incapable of performing competently in the field. It is the recommendation of this healer that Master Jinn be removed from active service until such time that his mental state is deemed stable enough for unsupervised field work._

            Obi-Wan had been forced to read that portion of the soul healer’s report several times as his mind vigorously rebelled at the notion that Qui-Gon Jinn could ever be anything less than competent, less than amazing, when it came to his field work. Qui-Gon was a legend in the Temple, even among the youngest initiates. Obi-Wan had known, throughout his apprenticeship, what a dominating figure he had to keep pace with and, though his personal failure was expected, perhaps even preordained, he had always sought to avoid disappointing the great knight that was his master.

            _Given the numerous diplomatic incidents and complaints from planetary parties through their senate representatives, this Council is left with no other choice than to follow the recommendation set forth by Master Ras-da and remove Master Qui-Gon Jinn from mission status and teaching rotation. It is the Council’s fervent hope that, with time and healing, Master Jinn can emerge from this imposed sabbatical and resume his duties as a Jedi._

            Removed from missions _and_ teaching. Obi-Wan shuddered as comprehension washed over him yet again. The Council’s ruling was recorded by Mace himself which only hammered home for Obi-Wan the seriousness of Qui-Gon’s perceived failings. But diplomatic incidents? Complaints? The Council’s report was simply inconceivable. In his years as Qui-Gon’s padawan, Obi-Wan had never seen the great man so much as lift a utensil contrary to the dictates of etiquette. Qui-Gon was a paragon of appropriateness when it came to his missions. Even if his choices were sometimes unorthodox, much to the annoyance of the Council and the chagrin of his apprentice, Qui-Gon never approached his duty casually or without thoughtful regard. But Obi-Wan had also read some of the mission reports, all submitted by the man himself, and as much as he wanted to, Obi-Wan could not ignore the grossly erratic conduct carried out and described in perfectly damning detail by Qui-Gon Jinn himself.

            _The Grand Patron insisted that I return to the negotiation table, but I refused. I was determined to find where the man had hidden him for I was certain I saw him at the Royal Gala. I called the Patron a liar and stormed out of the assembly. I ignored my training and my duty to follow a selfish, self-indulgent flight of fancy. I have no excuse for my behavior save that, at the time, I was certain it was him._

            There were passages like that scattered throughout Qui-Gon’s mission reports. These cryptic references to sightings of an unknown individual caused Obi-Wan many a sleepless night as he racked his memories for the possible someone for whom his master searched. The only name that came to mind was the same name that haunted so much of his apprenticeship: Xanatos. But that was impossible. Xanatos was dead. Obi-Wan had seen the man’s end with his own eyes. Who then could engender such desperate passion within his former master’s heart? There were times, in the still of the night when the ship was deep in the hyperspace wash of streaking stars, that Obi-Wan would entertain the idea that Qui-Gon was searching for him. The thought would spark a warmth in him that radiated from the center for his chest out towards his toes and fingers, temporarily driving out the aching chill in his bones, but then his mind would drag forth all the reasons why that particular scenario could not be true. His faults and foibles would be enumerated in his mind’s eye in stunning detail utterly annihilating the false hope before it ever took root.

             And afterwards, Obi-Wan was always left feeling far colder than before.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            _Despite the many efforts of myself and my staff, Master Qui-Gon Jinn refuses to cooperate in any of his healing sessions. He is either combative or completely withdrawn electing not to answer any questions or engage in meaningful dialogue of any kind. Recent visits to the Master’s quarters has revealed that, most days, Jinn passes his time under the influence of various intoxicating potations. His quarters and personal habits display a growing lack of care for order or hygiene. All evidence points to the conclusion that Jinn is unstable in the extreme. Given the time that has elapsed since the precipitating incident, it is my professional opinion that Qui-Gon Jinn is unlikely to recover from his trauma and should be considered for permanent relocation to an appropriate facility._

            Obi-Wan reread the last sentence of Master Ras-da’s entry. The report had been made less than a ten day prior to his return to the Temple.

_…Jinn is unstable in the extreme._

            Obi-Wan put down the datapad and closed his eyes.

_Qui-Gon Jinn is unlikely to recover from his trauma…_

            Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped open as another memory surfaced in his mind.

_Master Qui-Gon doesn’t have a padawan._

            No padawan. Skywalker was apprenticed to Master Yoda. Garen had told him so on the way to Coruscant. Was this somehow linked to the traumatic event that had affected Qui-Gon so? Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed. There were several Council and mission reports that he had yet to read in their entirety as all his preliminary scanning indicated nothing towards the mystery he was trying to solve… but maybe he hadn’t been investigating the right mystery. Obi-Wan picked up the datapad and quickly inputted his search terms: Skywalker : Padawan : Jinn.

            Obi-Wan waited as the few dozen files were reviewed and sorted then finally the small device emitted a satisfied beep indicating the completion of its task. Only one file was listed. Obi-Wan clicked the file and a Council transcript populated on his screen.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jedi High Council Session

Sealed Records – Council Eyes Only

Master Qui-Gon Jinn regarding Anakin Skywalker

 

YODA: Requested this audience you did, Master Jinn.

JINN: Yes, Master. I have come to speak about the future of Anakin Skywalker.

(indecipherable grumblings)

WINDU: This Council has already rendered its decision on Skywalker to which you have made your opposition known. There is no further need for discussion.

JINN: Things have changed since last we spoke. My… situation has changed.

KOON: We are aware of your… situation, but that does not address all of our concerns.

GALLIA: Qui-Gon, with all that has happened recently, do you not think it is best to wait before discussing taking another…

JINN: Forgive me, Master Gallia, but you misunderstand. I am not here to ask that Anakin be my padawan learner.

(indecipherable mutterings)

MUNDI: Then what are you asking, Master Jinn?

JINN: Only that Anakin be trained by someone. Despite all that has… has happened, it still seems clear that a child that powerful must be trained.

KOON: He has already formed attachments.

PIELL: And he is full of fear.

BILABA: And anger.

JINN: Yes, but he is also still a child with a child’s mind and a child’s fears. Surely, if nothing else, we can teach him to confront and control his emotions in a way that keeps him in the Light.

YODA: Believed you did that he was the Chosen One. Still believe, do you?

(17 seconds of silence)

JINN: I… no longer trust my initial... judgment.

YODA: Hmph.

(3 minutes 54 seconds of silence)

WINDU: The Council has heard your arguments and agrees with you regarding the fate of young Skywalker. The child is too powerful to be left untrained. To do so would risk his safety and the safety of others.

YODA: My padawan, young Skywalker will be. Keep him in the Light, we shall.

JINN: Thank you, Masters.

(10 seconds of silence)

YODA: Something else you require, Master Jinn?

JINN: Yes, Masters. I was wondering if you have come to a decision regarding my last request.

GALLIA: Master Jinn… Qui-Gon, you have only recently recovered from… a rather severe trauma. It is wise that you should give yourself a chance to heal, to meditate and seek the guidance of the Force before returning to the field, but the time you ask for,

JINN: With respect… Adi, it is the recent trauma, as you so put it, that demands I give it all my attention, all the time it requires however long that may be. I _must_ to do this.

(6 seconds of silence)

YODA: Granted, your request is. Allow you this time, the Council does for now. Hopeful it is that find for what you search you do.

WINDU: May the Force be with you, Qui-Gon.

JINN: And with you, Masters.

 End Session

Sealed by Council Member Grandmaster Yoda

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

            Hundreds of swimmers are killed during high tide in the sapphire pools of Enit-sel Six. The sparkling azure waters twinkle and pulse like a living, liquid blanket of a thousand stars suspended in a velvety, warm medium that caresses the skin leaving trails of pleasant tingles in its wake. But the beautiful waters hold a deadly secret in their cerulean depths. The firefly lights that make the waves dance in dazzling brilliance are also the same non-sentient beings that quietly condemn star-dazed swimmers to a watery tomb. It is the delightful buzzing, tingling sensations that kill them, the excited sparks gliding across the skin that conceals the paralyzing venom of a trillion tiny bites. Legs, arms, and other appendages began to slow, churning sluggishly through the water and it is then the swimmer realizes that _something_ is _wrong_. But of course, by then, it is often too late. The toxin dulls the lungs, silences the heart and in a haze of confusion the once joyous swimmer slips beneath the rolling crystal surface with an expression of grim bewilderment because, though the swimmer _understands_ that air is needed, that it is an immediate requirement to redirect the swift course of events away from its rapidly, inevitable conclusion, the swimmer simply cannot reconcile the moment with the fact that he or she is dying. And so, they slip away from the floating world above never quite comprehending why.

            It is a feeling Obi-Wan Kenobi could sympathize with.

            Obi-Wan let the datapad fall from his fingers as if it contains the dreaded toxin of the Enit-sel water dancers. And maybe it did because he _was_ paralyzed. The transcript of the Council session is clear: Qui-Gon renounced his claim on Anakin Skywalker. The boy was not taken from him. He was not compelled to recant the statements made that fateful day in the Council chambers. And yet he did. Why? And there was that word again, trauma. What the trauma mentioned in the healer’s report and the one the Council spoke of so hesitantly one and the same? What had happened to his master after he left the Temple? What calamity befell him post his desertion? Was it something he could have prevented? Could this new, unknown tragedy be laid at his feet as well?

            Obi-Wan shook his head in attempt to clear the choking fog mudding his thoughts. Nothing made sense anymore. His mind was like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces that failed to fit in tongue and groove fashion and were instead contradictory and antithetical. Obi-Wan picked up the forgotten datapad and searched through Mace’s materials again. This time, he had a certain date in mind.

_After extensive evaluation, it seems clear that Master Jinn’s recent mental trauma is indeed the result of the violent termination of the training bond. As the Council is aware, bonds can only be severed in one of three ways: mutual dissolution, death of one party, or unilateral disseverance. While the former is known to generate little negative effect, the latter two phenomena are often associated with substantial mental trauma. Jinn’s recent symptoms and affect corroborate the theory that his padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, chose to independently severe the bond between them and his inexperience in such matters resulted in even greater damage than such a severance would usually produce. Though the damage of psychic trauma has been dealt with and Jinn is expected to make a full recovery, it is unclear what lasting effects may remain._

            A surge of bile rushed up the back of Obi-Wan’s throat forcing him to close his eyes to quell the sudden nausea. It was his fault. _He_ had done this! The datapad fell from his hand again, this time forcefully discarded as he wrapped his arms around himself. He rocked slowly back and forth where he sat, a low and powerful moan racking his frame.

_…_ _Hopeful it is that find for what you search you do._

            Shame and guilt twisted in his gut adding fuel to the churning pool of nausea. His fault… His fault… This was worse than before, so much worse. He had hurt his master. Wounded him in a way no one else could. Oh gods… Oh Force…

_…after you left, Master Qui-Gon stayed in the starmap room. He would just… sit there, meditating I guess. It was months before he went on missions again… I think… I think he was looking for you._

            The Force around him lurched and the small cabin began to tilt and spin on its axis. Obi-Wan stumbled from his cot, fumbling his way to the small ‘fresher his fingers clumsily latching on to the duraplast waste evacuation basin just a heartbeat before the contents of his latemeal make an unscheduled reappearance. For seemingly immeasurable minutes, he heaves and groans as his stomach exhausts its limited food source and resigns to ejecting mouthfuls of acidic bile. When the worst of the nausea finally abated, Obi-Wan’s throat felt like the tender tissues had been laid bare before a Tatoowinian sand storm. The space between his temples throbbed painfully in tune with his heartbeat and his muscles felt liquid and heavy. Obi-Wan sank to the floor, his back to the wall his knees pulled tightly to his chest. He brought his head down to rest upon his crossed arms, hiding the tears that streamed unbidden down his cheeks from the harsh ‘fresher light. No sound escaped his lips as silent sobs wrack his body causing him to tremble in the unnatural quiet.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            The deck plating in his cabin trembled slightly as the transport vessel touched down on the landing dock. It had been several hours since Obi-Wan first laid on the ‘fresher floor, but he hadn’t returned to bed. Instead he remained in the cramped space, huddled in on himself as if the curled position could somehow truly protect him from the horrors of his discoveries. He felt as paralyzed as the swimmers of Enit-sel Six and just as doomed, but there was no confusion here. No disconnect between events and the feeling dread stealing icily through his bones. He had brought himself to this dark place, through his actions, through his incompetence, through his selfishness. But it was more than that that clawed at him. He had hurt his master. Wounding him in a way no other could, no other had.

            Not even Xanatos had been that cruel.

            Obi-Wan pulled tighter into himself, squeezing shut his eyes as he tried to quell the tempest raging within his skin. He lay there, shaking, thinking and not thinking for some time still until a mechanized voice cut through the damning quiet around him.

            “Last debarkation call for Gathegi City, Gathegi. Please exit the vessel now and thank you for choosing Star Lady Ergo-Liners.”

            The tiny, feminized voice repeated the message in Huttese, Durese, and Rodese before lapsing into silence. Obi-Wan was out of time. Though he felt he was unable to escape from the dissonance of pain and numbness that held him on the floor, he somehow was able to get to his feet, collect his meager things, and move out into the corridor. He had no memory of moving down the gangway, the stares he invited from his swaying, nearly stumbling progress, or the whispers of disgust and disapproval of those who clearly thought that he was just another drunk spacer slinking his way through the galaxy. Obi-Wan noticed none of this as he moved like a recent reanimant, shambling blindly through the darkened alleyways of the seedy streets sprawling out from the spaceport.

            It was not the type of neighborhood Obi-Wan would have chosen nor was it the type of place he would have expected to find his former master residing in, but Mace was very clear that, given Qui-Gon’s limited credits and resources and the destination of his transport from Coruscant, this port of call was the most likely place to find the former Jedi. Additionally, both he and Mace knew that the trip to Gathegi would have depleted most of Qui-Gon’s credits, forcing the obvious conclusion that the man would be lost somewhere within the poorest districts of the capital city. Mace also had mentioned Qui-Gon’s proclivity towards intoxication would also support this theory, but Obi-Wan still had had his doubts when the Councilor suggested that. In almost a decade of apprenticeship, Obi-Wan had never once seen his master drunk. The man was too much of Jedi to allow such a loss of control. Then again, the man discussed in the healer’s files seemed to have little in common with a Jedi. Still, Obi-Wan could not reconcile what he had read with the man he had known.

            None of those past thoughts, however, were present in his current mind. In fact, his mind was curiously void of specific thoughts, only feelings filled him and none of them were good. His mind was not on the moment, but on the maelstrom, his body mechanically moving on its own volition with no input from a place of reason or care.

            Then something did catch his attention. A disturbance was gathering to his left. Muffled sounds that soon exploded into cacophony as the battered door to a dingy pub swung open. Obi-Wan stopped in tracks as three massive humanoids shouldered their way through the tight portal holding something large and oddly angled between them. With a sudden movement, the object was thrown clear of the group landing in the open street with only the slightest sound, but it was a sound that was unmistakable. A soft “omf!” had been muttered and it was then that Obi-Wan realized that what had been ejected like trash was actually a person. One of the trio stepped forward and spit on the poor creature still lying on the curbside.

            “That will teach ya, offworlder!” he barked. His comrades joined in for a few last insults before all three turned around and reentered the pub. Suddenly alone except for the individual at his feet, Obi-Wan was at a loss of what to do. Whatever had happened in the bar was none of his business, but this was a _person_ laying in the gutter a mere meter away from him and probably injured.

            With a quiet, but resolved sigh Obi-Wan stepped forward kneeling down beside the being.

            “Ser?” he called out tentatively unsure if his assistance would be welcomed. When no response followed, Obi-Wan’s concern increased. He gently touched the shoulder of what he was close enough to now to recognize as a human male.

            “Ser? Are you alright?”

            Again only silence was his answer. Very worried now, Obi-Wan risked turning the man over. The face was a mass of lacerations and nasty bruises. It would appear that the others had roughed him up before finally tossing him out. Already much of the man’s face was swelling from the tissue damage and broken capillaries, but it wasn’t the injuries that caused Obi-Wan to gasp aloud.

            It was the recognition.

            Body broken and left to bleed into a gutter, he had found Qui-Gon Jinn.

 


	2. Naked and Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Everything… everything I touch… withers in my hands. I wish… I had never been trained… that the Jedi never found me…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello again! I’m sorry for the long wait, but life has been busy and this chapter has been a beast to wrangle. Even now, I’m not quite certain I succeeded and, as a result, the format of this story may change. Both Perfect and Imperfect were done in four parts and it was my intent for Human to follow this same pattern. However, after my difficulties with this chapter, Human may prove to be longer. (Shrug) It will be what it will be and, as mentioned earlier, updates will be slow but steady.
> 
> If you are seeking happy endings and fluff, turn away now.  
> Thanks to Maeve Pendergast, my wonderful beta. I couldn’t resist making some changes, therefore the errors are all mine.

            Qui-Gon came to consciousness slowly, reluctantly as always. In his waking life there was only pain, in his dreams only nightmares, but in unconsciousness there was oblivion and he cherished the void, embraced it, for it was as close to death as he would be allowed for a long time. A low moan brushed past his lips and he sat up in his sleep couch feeling the bright sting of fresh injuries and the dull ache of old ones. He lifted a hand to his head, blunt fingers tracing the burning line of a laceration, but instead of feeling the crusty remnants of blood and torn skin Qui-Gon felt only a thin rise of flesh that promised a scar. The hand lowered to his chest where his examination continued. His tunic was gone, leaving him only in trousers, and his bare chest displayed a multitude of old damage, but other spots, newer ones, were covered with bacta patches and a long, tight wrap had been wound around his ribs.

            Wary and addled eyes lifted from his medical dressings and began to flit across the sleep couch settling briefly on the soft, rich bedclothes and downy comforter before roaming over every item in the small space. The room was sparsely furnished: two sleep couches (the other empty, but neatly made), a desk, two chairs, a dresser, a kitchenette, and three doors which Qui-Gon assumed led to a refresher, closet, and outside. The entire room was exceedingly tidy and bereft of anything that resembled personal items or keepsakes. In fact, the only thing he could see that wasn’t there for function was a small, closed box resting innocuously on the otherwise empty desk.

            Curious, despite himself, Qui-Gon pushed back the warm bedclothes and placed his bare feet on the worn carpeting. He stood carefully, his entire body complaining of abuse and age, but he pressed forwards with wobbling steps until he reached the desk. Looking out into the space once more he waited, half expecting the room’s owner to burst forth from the shadows berating him for his intent to breach his privacy. Qui-Gon stood still for several silent moments and when no such protestation came he turned his attention back to the solitary box. He reached out with thick and calloused fingers, tracing the contours of the box lightly as if afraid it might harm him after all, boxes held secrets and secrets could be dangerous things indeed.

            With a deep breath of dreadful resignation, he lifted the hinged lid revealing a single data pad and several credit chips. Qui-Gon felt a small smirk form under his moustache in response to the anti-climactic ending. Still, this box seemed an ill omen and quickly his smile faded and his investigation continued. He ignored the money. Qui-Gon was many things, had committed many sins, but thief was not yet amongst his list. Instead he picked up the pad and thumbed it on hoping to gain some knowledge about his benefactor, but it was not to be. The glowing green script that stood out sharply against the black background demanded a passcode that Qui-Gon did not know and could not even begin to guess. With a sigh, he placed the pad back into the cradle of the box and shut the lid.

            His investigation thwarted, Qui-Gon turned his attention to the ‘fresher. As he stepped inside his eyes immediately set upon the countertop where a closed travel bag lay on one side and a collection of new, still hygi-wrapped toiletries sat on the other. It would seem that whoever brought him here also purchased him some personal necessaries. With a dogged intention not to examine his circumstances to closely, Qui-Gon closed the door and stripped out of his thin leggings and small clothes. He stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water. Basking under its spray, it was several moments before he remembered to clean himself. To be honest, personal hygiene had not been amongst his priorities of late, but someone had taken great care to tend to his needs and his injuries. The least he could do was not send them away with his stink. Ever mindful of his bandages, Qui-Gon scrubbed off the layers of dirt and filth from his skin before turning his attention to the mat masquerading as his hair.

            Finally clean, he turned off the hot water with a sigh and stepped out of the small stall. A fluffy white towel was folded neatly on a rack to his left. He took it, unfolded it, and patted himself dry before tying it around his narrow waist. Hesitantly, he glanced at the mirror and was relieved to find the glass too fogged to display his reflection, but the humidity in the room had also made it stuffy, so Qui-Gon opened the door to cool off in the main room. However, as soon as he opened the ‘fresher door the outer door opened revealing the figure of a man that haunted his waking life and terrorized his dreams.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Obi-Wan Kenobi was not prepared in the slightest for the scene that appeared before him or the multitude of conflicting emotions the vision engendered. After carrying his former master to the nearest hostel and tending to his wounds, Obi-Wan found himself unable to sleep. Instead he had simply passed most of the night and early morning staring at the unconscious figure lying supine on the other sleep couch. He had been lost in his thoughts during those twilight hours trying to suss out his feelings and determine just what he hoped to achieve by coming here. But enlightenment never came, his Force connection remained elusive and his own psyche stubbornly withheld the answers he so needed. Around sunrise, he admitted defeat and surrendered his disturbed vigil in search of food for firstmeal. The chore had proven a sufficient distraction for his troubled mind, permitting a modicum of peace as he focused only on the task at hand, but that shadow of serenity was banished the moment he stepped into the small abode.

            Balancing the plates on one hand, Obi-Wan inserted his card key and stepped in the room only to freeze mid-movement as midnight blue eyes he had not seen in over a year stared at him. Both men stood stock-still, locked in a moment of surrealness, each seemingly incapable of bridging the gap between that moment and the inexorable birth of the next. In fact, it was the sound of a door opening or closing down the hall that anchored Obi-Wan back into reality. With a shake of his head and a clearly chagrined expression he stepped fully into the room closing the door behind him.

            “I didn’t realize you were awake or else I would have chimed first,” he spoke with feigned casualness. However, the tension between the two men did not diminish in the slightest. In fact, to Obi-Wan it seemed to have grown even thicker. He noticed that Qui-Gon still hadn’t moved, his eyes still locked on Obi-Wan, his expression unreadable. Obi-Wan bit his lip dropping his gaze to the floor. Then he remembered the warm weight in his hand.

            “I… I figured you might be hungry, so… I got us something for firstmeal,” he said taking a small step forward, but that small step produced a large reaction. The moment he moved Qui-Gon ducked back across the threshold, retreating deeper into ‘fresher until his back was against the far wall. Obi-Wan frowned and hesitantly moved forward another single pace. Again the response was as immediate as it was disquieting. Qui-Gon shrank against the wall, curling up in a manner that Obi-Wan could only describe as cowering. He wasn’t looking at Obi-Wan anymore. Instead, he had tucked his head into his knees, his ears covered with his large hands, his towel slipping open revealing a thinner thigh than Obi-Wan remembered. In fact, now that Obi-Wan really looked at him, his former master seemed… smaller. Atrophied. Almost… withered. It was as if the man was victim of some great wasting sickness and the past year had taken its toll in flesh. Never before had Obi-Wan seen Qui-Gon look so… old. Even his hair, at least what Obi-Wan could see of it, held far more gray than it had not that long ago and his current hunched position only added to his enfeebled mien. In truth, the man before him was someone who Obi-Wan barely recognized and his entire gut ached with the knowledge that he had caused the fall such a great man.

            His hand trembled and the carefully stacked containers fell to the floor with a muted clatter and squishy thump. Then sudden noise caused the older man to flinch and the flinch drove a stake through Obi-Wan’s heart bleeding panic into every cell of his being.

            “I… I shouldn’t of… I… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I didn’t… I didn’t… I couldn’t… I wanted… I’m sorry…”

The words left his lips in rush. He knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t stop the words, couldn’t stop the torrent of half formed self-recriminations from filling the space. He stepped back, out of the ‘fresher. He needed to run, needed to flee, needed to put some distance between himself and the damnable truth that lay hunched and shivering in the corner, but his legs failed him dropping him gracelessly to the floor. Yet still he was determined to get away. He scrambled, crab-like to the far wall, pulling his knees in tight to his own chest, huddled-in much like the older man was.

            Obi-Wan closed his eyes tight, but tears still managed to leak through his golden lashes. He held on to himself, rocking back and forth in a tiny ball leaning against the wall repeating his mantra of guilt, blind to everything except his panic and pain.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            He had not been looking directly at the apparition after he pulled himself into the corner awaiting his punishment, so when the dishes fell to the ground, the sound startled him. But still he dared not look up, he dared not move. Instead, he waited for the torture to begin, for the vicious barbs of the younger man’s hate to tear into his body, flay his skin, devour him whole. And soon the words came, but they were not harsh and grating noise of his expectations. No, these words were unmistakably soft and nearly breathless. Confused and more than terrified, Qui-Gon dared to let his eyes dart up and back down again. What he glimpsed did not make sense, so he stole another look. What he saw confounded him beyond all measure. There was his scourge, his tormentor, his avenging spirit… crying against the wall.

            A muscle in his hand twitched, reacting instinctively to reach out and comfort the man who was once his padawan, but Qui-Gon quelled the urge, pushing it down ruthlessly as he reminded himself that his touch only brought suffering and pain and no amount of denial would ever change that. Therefore, he reasoned that this… behavior from the apparition must simply be a new form of torture, another way to punish him for the grievous wrongs he had committed in the great and foolish life of Jinn.

            Yes. It made sense. It was right. And yet…

            It felt so very… _wrong_.

            Minutes passed and the quiet sobbing of the younger man did not abate. Yet, Qui-Gon did nothing. However, when the sobbing shifted to desperate gasps for air something stirred in the former master and no matter how hard he fought to deny it, every fiber of his being demanded that he do something, anything to help ease the man’s pain. Unable to completely resist the need to comfort, but fully aware that his touch would not be welcomed, Qui-Gon turned slightly to the sobbing wraith and uttered a single word.

            “Breathe.”

            The word was softly spoken, little more than a gust of breath itself and Qui-Gon wasn’t certain the young man had even heard it through his hyperventilation. So he tried again, this time louder and with what once had been his signature masterly tone.

            “Breathe, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon repeated as he unfolded himself slightly. “Deep breath in… hold it… then slowly out, like drawing silk. Deep breath in, yes. And now out. Just like that.”

            Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan’s breathing began to level out as he struggled to follow the well-practiced exercise. When finally he appeared to be breathing normally, Qui-Gon allowed himself to relax, sinking back against the wall, but this time not huddled in a protective ball. His back was pressed flush against the smooth, cold surface, one leg shooting straight out the other bent at the knee, his arm resting upon it. The towel, no longer tied, rested loosely across his lap, betraying only the barest touch of modesty. His hair, still slightly wet, hung in limp tendrils around his face and shoulders. In truth, he must have looked a sight, but his appearance did not even register on his list of concerns. Honestly, his list consisted of only one concern, one question.

            What new form of torment was this to be?

            He shook his head then lowered his chin to his chest, closing his eyes. It didn’t matter. Whatever happened, whatever new agony he was made to endure, he would because he deserved it. Deserved it, and so, so much more.

            “Why?” came a strangled question. Qui-Gon raised his head to find himself staring into a pair of red-rimmed, blue-gray eyes. When he answered he gave no thought to what he would say. He had long since learned to only speak the truth to this phantom, words he owed to another, but would never be able to say.

            “I could never stand to see you in pain… even when I know I am the cause of it.”

            “Wha… what? What do you mean?”

            _Ah_ , Qui-Gon thought to himself. _This is how it shall be done_. He was to list his crimes before the victim and then he would receive his judgment. He almost smiled. It was right this way.

            “I am the cause, Obi-Wan. I failed you. I rejected you. I hurt you. Time and time again… so many mistakes,” Qui-Gon’s voice cracked forcing him to pause and swallow thickly. With his eyes averted, he began again.

            “From the moment we met, it was clear to everyone that the Force wanted our pairing. Yoda saw it. Mace saw it. You saw it. You were a boy of just twelve standard and yet you were still far wiser than I. I took you on, but still I would not listen. I pushed you away over and over until… I caused that one last, unforgivable hurt… pushing you away for good.” He could not stop the cracking of his voice, but he would not let that deter him.

            “Everything… _everything_ I touch… withers in my hands,” he said, his voice trailing low into a whisper as his eyes closed. “I wish… I had never been trained… that the Jedi never found me… that…”

            The older man tried to finish his thought, but the words caught in his throat making breathing difficult and further speech impossible. So involved he was in his own dark thoughts, Qui-Gon did not noticed the gentle voice near his ear telling _him_ to breathe. It was only when the voice took on a more desperate, plaintive tone that his awareness was finally wrenched from his personal morass of despair and was forced to acknowledge something that existed beyond his skin.

            “Master… no, please... it’s not your fault. It was never your fault… Master, please don’t… please…”

            That voice, that beautifully accented, dulcet tone pleading so earnestly was not something Qui-Gon could ignore. He steadied his breathing and turned his watery eyes to the figure now beside him. The apparition seemed to radiate misery; an attribute it had never exhibited before. For several heartbeats, all Qui-Gon could do was stare and now that he saw the figure, truly _saw_ him, he realized with more and more certainty that this visitation was supremely different from the rest. For one thing, the ghost of his former apprentice was not dressed in Jedi robes, but in sturdy, non-descript civilian attire. Secondly, his hair was not styled in a padawan cut and was long enough to hang in his face creating a curtain partially veiling his eyes. However, it was the specter’s expression and body language that was most unfamiliar. There was no tenseness, no lips curled into a waiting snarl, no restless fingers uncurling and curling into ready fists. No, here there was only sadness, a deep and abiding agony that rested on the trembling form with the familiarity of well-worn leather.

            A treacherous and dreadful seed of truth settled in Qui-Gon’s belly. It raked lightly across his mind leaving thin welts of possibility, all throbbing with the steady pulse of _what if_. He rebelled against the horrifying concept even as the evidence of his eyes and heart sought to overwhelm the shrieking denial in his soul. _It cannot be_ he railed. _NO! NO! NO!_ But even as he waged war within himself, he knew the seed of doubt had taken root. He was already ensnarled within its grasp, the painful tentacles of truth piercing his mind with the blinding burn of a saber strike.

            Whether in an act of ineluctable masochism or languorous submission, he reached out a trembling hand, extended a single, squat digit and touched… solid flesh.

            Wanting desperately to remain unconvinced, he poked the apparition again and he, again, was met with the resistance of something incredibly and irreducibly _there_.

            “You’re… real…”

            “Wha… what?”

            “You’re real…” he repeated, though whether it was to himself or in answer to the question asked Qui-Gon didn’t know. All he _did_ know was that the glassy blue-gray eyes that stared at him, confusion fairly rippling in their depths, belonged to a living, breathing, _present_ Obi-Wan Kenobi.

            “Maa-aster?” Obi-Wan whispered with an uncharacteristic stutter. To his mind, Qui-Gon had never heard anything more beautiful.

            “Padawan,” he whispered as he grabbed hold of the man beside him and pulled him tightly to his chest. It didn’t matter that he was essentially naked or sitting on the floor of a refresher. It only mattered that his padawan was here, with him, whole and so very, very real.

            “Padawan. Padawan,” he repeated in whispers, unable to say anything more, as if that one word was the only utterance in the galaxy that could express the glorious rapture he felt in that moment. A sentiment that only magnified when he heard the responding “Master,” murmured by his ear. After several minutes of just basking in the solid presence of the man lost to him so long ago, Qui-Gon pulled back enough to see his face. He raised a hand to cup a far too pale cheek and his heart warmed when Obi-Wan leaned into his touch. He stared into those changeable eyes and sighed in contentment.

            “Gods, how I have missed you.”

             “You… you have?” Obi-Wan asked, unmistakable incredulity in his voice. For Qui-Gon, the sound was painful. It hurt to hear, to think that this man believed that he could disappear from his life and not be missed. But this is what he had created through his inadequacies and ineptitude. This pain was the lesson his teachings had wrought and it shamed him deeply.

            “Oh, my Padawan,” he replied clasping the youthful face between both his hands. “I have missed you every hour of every day. I prayed for you every day. I begged the Force just to see you again… and now you’re here… oh, Force, you’re here,” Qui-Gon repeated as he pulled the young man to him again in a fierce embrace.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Obi-Wan felt like his senses were moving in slow motion. His world had been turned upside down then inverted then spun around quickly and finally shaken a bit just for good measure. As a result, the former padawan was thoroughly, utterly, and profoundly confused. Not so long ago, Obi-Wan would have been sitting in front of his terminal mindlessly compiling complex data entries and coding them for archive retrieval with little thought past if the afternoon had warmed enough for him to leave his jacket at his desk.

            What he would not have been thinking about, much less doing, was sitting on a ‘fresher floor, hugging his naked former master while sobbing and (Force above!) drooling on the older man’s shoulder.

            As surreal as things still felt, that bit of reality caused something in Obi-Wan’s brain to begin firing again. He pulled away from the older man, wiping his face clumsily, his cheeks flushed red in chagrin.

            “I…,” he stammered helplessly. His eyes cast about for something to latch on to, though he studiously avoided the other man’s eyes in doing so. Finally, something caught his attention and Obi-Wan said a silent prayer to the Force for the divine diversion.

            “Your bandages… they need redressing,” he said standing quickly. He turned to the counter and began to rummage through his travel bag stalling as much as he dared while he gathered his wits and tried to steady his breathing. After a moment, he heard the shuffle of limbs and the rustle of cloth behind him. Obi-Wan found the roll of bacta bandages, but he didn’t turn around just yet. Instead, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Why was he so disturbed? Isn’t this what he always wanted? To find out that, not only did his master miss him, but that he _wanted_ him. _He_ was _wanted_. Qui-Gon had said so. Repeatedly. So, why did he feel so… off balance?

            Obi-Wan shook his head as if he could physically dislodge the discordant thoughts and emotions then took another deep breath before he mustered the courage to turn around and face his former master. Even as he did so, he found it impossible to bring himself to look into the once familiar deep, blue eyes of the older man. Instead, Obi-Wan focused on his task, replacing the worn bandages with a gentle, but clinical detachment. Qui-Gon said nothing under his ministrations, only flinching once or twice at the particularly nasty contusions around his ribs. When the task was done, Obi-Wan stepped back while Qui-Gon took a few light stretches, testing his range of motion. After a few moments of silence, the older man finally spoke.

            “Thank you,” he said, his rich baritone both a balm and an irritant to Obi-Wan’s soul.

           “No need for thanks. You’ve patched me up more times than I care to count,” Obi-Wan offered in an attempt at levity, but he found his own words cut too close to the quick.

             “If only I had not caused such injuries as well,” Qui-Gon answered and, in an instant, Obi-Wan knew his face had betrayed him. He watched as Qui-Gon’s brow wrinkled and his eyes seemed to dim with Obi-Wan’s wince at his words. Obi-Wan wanted to say something. He wanted to ease the hurt he caused in the older man by his careless expression; after all, it was he that had caused the greater injury, the greater insult, but Obi-Wan could not find the words and his mouth remained stubbornly shut.

            “I’ve made you uncomfortable. My apologies,” Qui-Gon said at last. Obi-Wan was thankful for the older man’s tact and kindness at not pointing out his weakness any further, but he still found himself unwilling to subject himself to the man’s scrutiny. Soon his gaze drifted down to the messy heap of plates just outside the doorway.

            “I’ll let you finish your ablutions and while I clean this up,” Obi-Wan said as he exited the small ‘fresher and knelt down to sort through the mess that would have been their firstmeal.

            “Let me help you,” Qui-Gon started as he stepped forward, but Obi-Wan’s wide-eyed look of panic seemed to stop him in his tracks.

            “No, no. Please… I’ve got this, Master… Jinn,” he replied hastily returning to his task without looking back up at the older man.

            “As you wish,” came the low reply and Obi-Wan was granted a few more peaceful minutes of silence as he sorted and disposed of the refuse of their morning.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Qui-Gon struggled to swallow the hurt he felt with Obi-Wan’s every wince and flinch. It was all too clear that the young man was uncomfortable around him, his body language telling what his deferential words would not. A small part of Qui-Gon’s mind admitted that having the real Obi-Wan here and afraid of him was in some ways worse than any of his torturous hallucinations.

            He watched silently as Obi-Wan picked the dishes off the floor, sorting salvageable items from those he was forced to dispose. To anyone else, perhaps, the scene would have looked dull and bereft of any information regarding the young man’s state of mind, but Qui-Gon did not spend all those years living with Obi-Wan to not be able to pick up on some of his more subtle signals of disquiet. Obi-Wan was focused. Too focused. Which meant that he was stalling for time to gather his thoughts.

            Qui-Gon acknowledged the wisdom of such action and decided to do the same. After a slow, deep breath he closed his eyes. As much as Qui-Gon was relieved, grateful even, to see his once apprentice he was not so naïve or selfish to think that this reunion would be pleasant or long-lived. On the contrary, it would be painful for both men, but it would also be mercifully short. It had to be. As long as Obi-Wan was near him he was in danger. Qui-Gon swallowed thickly. Dear Gods yes, it would hurt to have Obi-Wan leave him again, but he would not hurt the man any more, not if he could help it.

            On this, Qui-Gon would vow his life.

            Qui-Gon stepped out of the refresher and watched as Obi-Wan, having dealt with the wasted food, busied himself with tidying in the room in general. At the moment he was making up Qui-Gon’s sleep couch and the former master was struck with a sudden wave of nostalgia. The moment almost felt normal.

            Almost.

            “Obi-Wan,” he called out softly, but when the young man continued to make the bed, Qui-Gon called out again this time louder. “Obi-Wan, stop this. We need to talk.”

            “I don’t know what to say, where to even begin,” was the soft reply.

            “Perhaps… perhaps, we can begin with firstmeal.”  

 


	3. Breaking Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why? Why were you looking?”   
> “Because I needed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, here we are chapter three and I was right, this will not be completed in four chapters. It’s just not possible the way the characters are going. And it is the characters who appear to be deciding things as all my careful written outlines are being completely ignored. C’est la vie. 
> 
> If you are seeking happy endings and fluff, turn away now.  
> Thanks to Maeve Pendergast, my wonderful beta. I couldn’t resist making some changes, therefore the errors are all mine.

            It had been an exceptionally quiet trip to Qui-Gon’s flat. After the earlier failed attempt at firstmeal and exceedingly awkward initial exchange, the elder of the pair had requested a small detour to his place of residence to change into something a little less battle worn and bloody. It was still quite early and the streets were mostly empty as they made their way through the seedier sides of the small port town. Obi-Wan’s eyes scanned the buildings as they passed, unable to completely suppress years of training. He didn’t know what he was looking for nor did he find it, whatever it was, but his observations did return a feeling of disquiet when he noticed Qui-Gon’s left hand was shaking, though he was trying to hide it. Obi-Wan considered asking him if something was wrong, but he bit the question back before speaking. Instead, he simply kept his pace and said nothing.

            After a few minutes, the two arrived at a shabby, multi-level building nestled tightly between a liquor store and a burned out ruin of another store. Qui-Gon remained silent as he led Obi-Wan up the short stairs to the entrance, pushing open an antique door, and passing an old man snoring loudly at a desk just inside the main entrance. Qui-Gon neither spoke nor hesitated as they moved through the cramped, dark lobby and up a set of stairs whose groans and creaks inspired serious doubts as to their stability. Finally, after three flights of climbing, the pair stopped just outside one of several doors, this one bearing a faded number 34.

            Obi-Wan waited for Qui-Gon to open the door, or unlock it, or something, but the older man just stood there staring at the flat wooden surface.

“Is something wrong?” Obi-Wan finally asked, breaking the silence of the corridor.

            “I…” Qui-Gon began, but he didn’t finish and he didn’t look at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan looked at the door then back to Qui-Gon in sudden understanding.

            “You don’t want me to come in.”

            “I… No. I don’t.”

            “I see,” Obi-Wan replied trying not to let his hurt show in his voice, but it must have because Qui-Gon finally looked at him holding his gaze for several heartbeats before looking away again. The older man stared at the door, one hand resting lightly upon its surface.

            “No, you don’t. I don’t want you to come in, Obi-Wan because… I am ashamed.”

            “Of a room? Do you really think so little of me?” he replied, still more than a little upset.

            “No, not the room. It is what you will _see_ in the room.”

            “What will I see?” he asked and when Qui-Gon remained silent for several minutes, Obi-Wan thought he was not going to answer at all, but when the answer did come, it wasn’t what he expected.

            “Me,” Qui-Gon finally answered at length. “Whoever I was before, whoever I seemed to be… it was a mask, a charade, a lie. This… what you would see beyond this door… this is who I am, what I am. Selfish as it is, I would rather you not see that.”

            “I… understand.”

            “But perhaps,” Qui-Gon continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “that is why you should see.”

            “No, you don’t have to, Master,” Obi-Wan replied not noticing his slip of the tongue. Qui-Gon turned to him with what could only be described as a rueful smile.

            “I must, if only to let you see why I am unworthy of that title and your kind regard,” he said. The decision made and with no further words of protest from Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon opened the door, but refrained from stepping inside. Instead he shot a quick glance at Obi-Wan and then stepped to one side. Obi-Wan dipped his head in deference to the clear invitation he had been given. Swallowing only once, he stepped inside feeling very uncertain about what he would find and if he could handle it once he did.

            Obi-Wan looked around… and frowned. Whatever he had been expecting, this was certainly not it. It was a room, small, dark, and… well, filthy. There was really no other word for it. The refuse of food containers, flimsi, and soiled clothing covered nearly every square inch of visible space, but perhaps what was most prolific, besides the layers of dust, were the empty bottles. Over a dozen in all could be seen from his position at the door and, Obi-Wan suspected that were he to actively search he would find quite a few more.

            He stepped inside, moving slowly into the space. He let his fingers skim atop one bottle of Chagrian ale before looking over his shoulder at Qui-Gon who had yet to step inside.

            “It would be odd to have to invite you into your own home,” he offered in what he hoped would come across as friendly humor. The bewildered and slightly frowning expression on his former master’s face told him that he had failed.

            “You… This does not… surprise you?” the older man asked softly still frozen just outside the door. Obi-Wan dipped his head and looked away his eyes following back to the bottle of ale.

            “Master Windu mentioned some of your… difficulties to me,” Obi-Wan replied in an equally soft voice. Behind him he heard Qui-Gon snort.

            “Difficulties. I doubt his words were that kind,” Qui-Gon replied as he finally entered the room. He shot a brief glance at Obi-Wan’s hand on the bottle, but then quickly turned away and began rummaging through clothing items strewn across a couch.

            “This should only take a moment. I’m certain I have a decent tunic here,” he grumbled still searching.

            “We could buy you some clothing while we are out. Master Windu ensured I had a few credits in case,”

            “I do not require charity,” came the growled reply. Obi-Wan looked up to the see the thunderous expression and set jaw of the older man and kicked himself mentally.

            “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he answered quietly. The blues eyes that stared at him softened slightly and a deep sigh followed.

            “No, I am sorry. You should not suffer for my failings… any more than you already have,” Qui-Gon replied as he turned back around to continue his search. After a few moments he had found a tunic that, though somewhat stained, at least did have any blood on it. He quickly reached over head and pulled off the tattered tunic, his ribs complaining fiercely as he did so. He was unable to suppress a hiss at the pain and instantly he felt Obi-Wan at his side. The younger man’s hands reached out to help, but stopped mid-way then fell to his sides.

            “I’m alright,” Qui-Gon murmured as he shot a quick glance at those blue-gray eyes near his shoulder. “Thank you.”

            Obi-Wan didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything only nodded. Still wrapped in his silence, he stepped away from Qui-Gon and moved to wait outside the small apartment. He stood in the dimly lit hallway trying to ignore his desperate desire for a deathstick, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets to keep them from twitching. After a few moments, Qui-Gon joined him in the hall closing the door to his rooms as he spoke.

            “There is a place not far from here that serves firstmeal,” he stated though his tone was questioning. Still not trusting himself to speak Obi-Wan nodded and stepped to one side indicating the older man should lead the way.

            The walk was short though, in truth, Obi-Wan noticed none of it. It could have been said that he was lost in his thoughts, but he wasn’t really thinking anything. He just followed because it was easier than… well, thinking. And if thinking was hard enough, feeling, Obi-Wan knew would be impossible, so he didn’t. He just followed. He followed Qui-Gon into what appeared to be a tavern repurposed into a small eatery. The older man led him to a small booth near a cracked window. As the two took their seats across from each other and thin Duros came by and swiftly wiped down the table surface with a rag that seemed to spread more germs than it killed.

            Once the table was “clean” the Duros eyed both his guests.

            “Your order?” he asked. Obi-Wan didn’t see any menus and had no clue was to what the small establishment could offer. After a brief pause and an almost imperceptible squaring of his shoulders Qui-Gon spoke.

            “Two orders of Gallatian eggs and sweet bread,” he said and then quickly added, “and a muja fruit if you have any.”

            The Duros gave a quick nod and then disappeared into the back presumably to see that the order was placed with the sentients or droids that served as the cooking staff. Obi-Wan stared at the older man dumbly as Qui-Gon’s mouth lifted just slightly in one corner.

            “They don’t have much of selection here, but I ordered what I remembered you liking…” he said his voice trailing off at the end. The man’s hesitation spurred Obi-Wan back to life.

            “I do… thank you,” he spoke at last and it seemed Qui-Gon’s tiny smile grew just a little bigger. Deciding that he liked the effect, Obi-Wan tried a little harder to make this work… somehow.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            “They don’t have Gallatian eggs on Ubar Udnom, but they do have something kind of close to it, if a bit spicier,” Obi-Wan said just after the Duros brought them their plates. Qui-Gon looked up from where he was cutting his portion of eggs into smaller bits to look at the younger man seated across from him.

            “Saebar eggs,” he replied and Obi-Wan nodded.

            “You’ve had them?”

            “Yes, a long time ago when I was escorting a diplomatic envoy through that sector. I’ve never been to Ubar though,” Qui-Gon replied.

            “It’s pretty there. Quiet.”

            “Is that where you went?”

            “Not at first, but yes,” Obi-Wan answered bringing his eyes down to focus on his food. Qui-Gon nodded, but of course Obi-Wan had not seen it. Ubar Udnom. He had never even thought to look there. There was no reason to except that that was where his padawan had been. If only he’d looked harder… If only…

            “Were you… happy there?” Qui-Gon asked. He had to know. It was that uncertainty that had pained him most during those long day and longer nights. The look Obi-Wan shot him, eyebrows raised, eyes slightly wide, spoke of the man’s surprise at the question and the searching eyes and furrowed brow that followed spoke of his genuine consideration of the question.

            “I don’t know,” he began his eyes still focused on something or nothing outside the window. “I wasn’t… unhappy… I just… _was_ , I suppose,” he said turning back to look at Qui-Gon.

            “I’m sorry,” he said and Obi-Wan just shrugged as he turned his attention back to his plate of food.

            “Mace found you?” Qui-Gon asked, knowing he had to, but unsure if you really wanted to the truth – to know that someone else had done what he had not.

            “No, Garen did,” Obi-Wan answered as he pushed a clump of uneaten egg around his plate. “He said he saw me before on a mission with Master Clee. He came back, after he was knighted and asked me to come back to the Temple with him.”

            “Why did you?”

            “Bant,” he answered simply. Qui-Gon nodded though Obi-Wan still wasn’t looking at him. It made sense that he would come back for Bant. Despite everything Obi-Wan would always be loyal to his friends and those he cared for. Even old masters that were far from deserving. But there was one thing from Obi-Wan’s explanation that still pricked at him.

            “He knew where you were and he never told me,” he muttered to himself. At that, Obi-Wan looked up.

            “Don’t be angry with him. I think he was trying to protect me in his way. He didn’t know… he didn’t understand why I had to leave.”

            Qui-Gon said nothing. He knew everything that happened and _he_ still didn’t understand. What else could Garen have done? What else _should_ he have done? Qui-Gon shook his head then lowered it in answer to his own painful questions. Garen was right to protect Obi-Wan from him and if he ever held any doubt about that decision, all Qui-Gon had to do was think on the damage he had caused already, the damage that sent his padawan running from him in the first place.

            “I’m not angry with him, Obi-Wan. Garen is a good friend and he was doing what he thought best for you. I cannot fault him for that. I only wish…”

            “That you had found me?” came a soft voice from across the table. Qui-Gon brought his head up and found himself staring into blue-gray eyes that seemed more vulnerable than he had ever remembered seeing before.

            “Yes,” he answered his voice shaking somewhat.

            “Why? Why were you looking?” Obi-Wan asked and that question so innocently asked begged for honesty – brutal and painful as it would be. But it was also not an easy question to answer nor was it a simple one.

            “Because I needed you,” he answered not fully aware he was going to say those words until he heard himself speak. “You were my padawan.”

            “But you didn’t want me.”

            “I did. I do.”

            “You gave me up! You gave me up for a boy you didn’t even know! Just one you wanted!” Obi-Wan shouted. Their Duros waiter looked up with an irritated frown from where he was sitting in the corner, but Qui-Gon could not have cared less if they were making a scene. He reached out for one of Obi-Wan’s hands, wrapping his large one around it and squeezing slightly.

            “I never meant to give you up and I’ve always wanted you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said and immediately he knew it was the exact wrong thing to say.

            “Liar!” Obi-Wan shouted as he snatched his hand away. “You never wanted me. I had to _beg_ you to take me as your padawan. Maybe I should have begged you to keep me too!”

            “No, it’s not like that!”

            “I’m right you know.”

            Qui-Gon turned his attention slightly to Obi-Wan’s left to… Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon’s head lowered and his eyes closed as he swallowed hard around the sudden tightness in his throat.

            “You’re not real,” he whispered.

            “I’m as real as he is.”

            “No, this isn’t right, it isn’t real,” he hissed squeezing his eyes shut even tighter. He couldn’t do this; he couldn’t face them both. It would kill him.

            They would kill him.

 

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

 

            Even as angry as he was Obi-Wan knew something had changed, had… shifted in the older man. He bit back the scream that had been on his lips and stared across the table. Qui-Gon was no longer looking at him. His head was down, his back pressed against the booth like he was pulling away from something… pulling away from him. _So much for being wanted_ a bitter voice inside him said, but still it didn’t feel right. The body language he saw didn’t show disgust or rejection, it looked more like… fear?

            “Qui-Gon?”

            “You’re not real,” came the whispered response. Confusion filled him as the anger, hurt, and bitterness rapidly fled his body. Something was very wrong here. Obi-Wan searched the small dining area for anything amiss, any threat he had overlooked, but all he saw was the single Duros glaring at him in an openly disapproving, but not hostile way. He turned back to Qui-Gon would had not moved in the slightest.

            “Master?”

            “No, this isn’t right, it isn’t real,” the older man hissed and Obi-Wan thought he saw a tremor pass through the rangy frame.

            “What’s not real, Master? What do you see?”

            “No, I’m not. I won’t! I won’t hurt him!” Qui-Gon yelled as his gaze snapped up to stare at… Well, as far as Obi-Wan could tell he was staring at nothing, an empty space beside where he was sitting. Obi-Wan looked at the space then back at Qui-Gon.

            “Mas,”

            “I know… I know… I’m sorry!” the older man cried as his hands went to his head, his fingers tangling in his hair and his pulled tightly into himself. “Stop please… please stop… please… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… please…”

            If Qui-Gon’s sudden withdrawal had made Obi-Wan worried, the string of whispered pleas nearly sent him into outright panic. Obi-Wan slid out his side of the booth and moved to join Qui-Gon, but the moment he approached and laid a single hand on the man’s forearm Qui-Gon’s eyes jerked open to stare at him in wide-eyed terror.

            “No… please no… I can’t, please…”

            “Master, it’s me, it’s Obi-Wan,” he said as he tried to calm the larger man down with light touches, but the man was having no part of it flinching with every touch or brush of flesh. Still Obi-Wan persisted in his attempts despite the constant nearly sobbing entreaties for whatever or whoever was tormenting him to stop.

            “Your friend seems unstable. You should take him elsewhere.”

            Obi-Wan mentally cursed himself for not noticing the approach of the Duros now standing at his shoulder with severely displeased expression. There was nothing of concern in the Duros’ attitude except his desire to get two potential troublemakers out of his establishment.

            “He will be fine in a moment,” Obi-Wan bit out barely keeping his anger at the man’s callousness in check.

            “He doesn’t look fine,” came the acerbic reply. Obi-Wan chose to ignore it as his focus was squarely on the man in front him that was rocking back and forth and muttering nonsense. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and turned to the Duros bringing all of his focus to bear on that single being’s mind. He stretched out his hand and stared into the waiter’s large red eyes.

            “There is no trouble here. Nothing to concern yourself with. You should let us be.”

            “There is no trouble here. Nothing to concern myself with. I should let you be,” the Duros replied his eyes dull and his expression slack.

            “You have other business to attend,” Obi-Wan pushed.

            “I have other business to attend, excuse me,” the Duros repeated then he turned away to attend to his other business. Obi-Wan watched him go, relaxing his hand and wobbling on his feet at little from the exertion. His shook his head trying to clear the slight pall over his thinking then turned back to Qui-Gon who had not seemed to notice the exchange with the Duros. Obi-Wan knelt next to the booth.

            “Master,” he tried again, but Qui-Gon could not hear him through the strength of his delusions? Hallucinations? It didn’t matter. It only mattered that Obi-Wan needed to cut through them somehow.

            “Master,” he tried again this taking the older man’s face between his palms and forcing him to turn in his direction even though his eyes remained stubbornly closed. “Master! Focus! Now!”

            The yelled command had the desired effect as it seemed to momentarily cut through the fog of fear and despair. A pair of watery blue eyes opened and stared at him in wary confusion.

            “Master, it’s me, Obi-Wan. We met this morning. We came here to have firstmeal, remember?”

            “Obi… Obi-Wan… you’re real?” Qui-Gon replied hesitatingly. Obi-Wan held back the frown that wanted to form on his face. This was the second time Qui-Gon had asked him that. Was that what he was seeing? Him?

            “Yes, Master. It’s me and I’m real, Master. I’m real,” he replied still holding the other man’s face between his hands. Qui-Gon shuddered slightly, closing his eyes as twin tears escaped their prisons to roll down his cheeks. One tear slid against Obi-Wan’s thumb and he carefully wiped it away.

            “Real…” Qui-Gon whispered.

            “Do you still see him? Is he still here?” Obi-Wan asked fairly certain of his theory. Qui-Gon’s eyes opened and the bright flash of fear returned.

            “It’s alright. I’m here and I’m real and I won’t hurt you, Master, but is he still here? The other Obi-Wan?” he asked as calmly as he could manage. Qui-Gon swallowed visibly his eyes darting to Obi-Wan’s still empty seat across the booth. Or at least it was still empty to Obi-Wan, who simply nodded at the subtle reply.

            “He’s not real, Master. I am. Focus on me.”

            “But…”

            “No, buts. Your focus determines your reality remember? You taught me that. Now focus on me. Just on me.”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

_Your focus determines your reality remember? You taught me that._

            The words cut through the last of his confusion and provided him a clarity that felt like Qui-Gon was waking from a deep sleep. Oh, he was still afraid. That hadn’t changed not in the slightest, but at least he could recognize the man kneeling before him. At least, he thought he did… maybe…

            “That’s it. That’s better,” Obi-Wan continued and Qui-Gon used the quiet, dulcet tones to modulate his own breathing. “Still there?” he asked. Qui-Gon dared another glimpse across the table. Sitting Obi-Wan sneered at him. Qui-Gon turned back to the kneeling Obi-Wan.

            “Yes,” he answered simply. Kneeling Obi-Wan nodded.

            “Alright,” he said his brow wrinkling in obvious thought. “If we leave will he follow?”

            “I don’t… I don’t know,” Qui-Gon answered honestly. It had never before occurred to leave once the apparition had appeared, after all, it always found him and it always would. But to escape now for even a little while and be with the real Obi-Wan, his Obi-Wan… it would be worth a try.

            “I don’t know,” he repeated his voice sounding a bit more like his usual baritone. “But I would very much like to try.”

            Qui-Gon wasn’t sure why, but Obi-Wan smiled at his words and he felt something within himself settle a bit more despite his ever present fear.

            “Then let’s go,” Obi-Wan said as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a few credits which he left on the table to cover their meal. He stood and offered a hand to his former master who took it only after a mild hesitation. Together the two men made their way out of the diner and out onto the mainly empty street though more people were out now than when they had arrived. They two kept to themselves and kept their quiet with Obi-Wan walking beside him eyes straight ahead with an occasional glance in his direction and with him checking over his shoulder to see if they were being followed.

            “Do you see him?”

            Qui-Gon turned to his former apprentice, to Obi-Wan, expecting to see something more than a simple question in his expression, but there was nothing. No judgment. No pity. Just a well-hidden concern that he might have missed had he not such long experience with this particular young man’s expressions.

            “Not at the moment.”

            “Good,” Obi-Wan answered, saying nothing more. They continued to walk in silence with no particular destination clearly in mind. After several minutes, Qui-Gon felt he could bear the silence no more and came to a sudden halt.

            “Why are you doing this?” he blurted out far harsher than he had intended. Obi-Wan who had stopped a few steps ahead of him turned around to face him.

            “What do mean? Walking?”

            “You found me… bleeding in the street. You know I am a drunk. A degenerate, washed up Jedi. And now you know I’m crazy as well. So, I ask again, why are you doing this?”

            “I found you injured so I helped you. As to the drinking,” Obi-Wan shrugged. “Everyone’s got something I guess. Something that makes things hurt less at least for a little while. And, well neither of us are Jedi anymore.”

            “And the last?” Qui-Gon pressed and again he was met with only a shrug of a shoulder. He studied the young man for several seconds before narrowing his eyes as realization set in.

            “You already knew,” he said, the three words sounding more like an accusation than a question. Maybe they were.

            “I did know some of it,” the younger man answered as he moved his gaze away from under Qui-Gon’s scrutiny. An irrational spark of anger flickered in the back of his head and Qui-Gon found himself shaking, but not from fear this time.

            “How?” he asked. At least Obi-Wan did not pretend to misunderstand him and answered directly even if he did not look at him.

            “I read some of your mission briefs and… some of your medical files.”

            Whatever Qui-Gon was expecting would be the man’s answer, the man’s source of information that wasn’t it.

            “How dare you!” he growled as he exploded forward. “How dare you read those! Those were my private files! I gave no permission for,”

            As soon as he said the words he knew he shouldn’t have. The gentle concern that had been in blue-gray eyes only minutes before was gone and in its place was a cold gray slate that burned him with its stare.

            “How dare I?” Obi-Wan replied his voice pitched low, lower than Qui-Gon had ever remembered hearing it before. “How dare I read your private files? How dare _YOU_! You were in my head. My _head_! Whose permission did you have for that!”

            “That was different! I was trying to save your life!”

            “Then you should have let me die!” Obi-Wan yelled. The side street fell into an unnatural silence as both men stared at one another, eyes wide, nostrils flared, and hearts racing.

            “You should have let me die.”

 


	4. The Walking Wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you think I will kill you?”   
> “No.”  
> “Damn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are seeking happy endings and fluff, turn away now.  
> Thanks to Maeve Pendergast, my wonderful beta. I couldn’t resist making some changes, therefore the errors are all mine.

“I admit this is not how I saw the day going,” Obi-Wan said as he shifted his weight from one hip to the other. A low huff echoed slightly to his left.

            “You? Had I known… I would be here, I… would have opted f-for… a coat or at least… a heavier… t-tunic,” Qui-Gon growled between gasps.

            “Nothing fur-lined I hope,” Obi-Wan remarked with a deadpan expression. Qui-Gon’s mouth formed a thin line as he turned away from the younger man at his right. He stared out in front of him in silence for several heartbeats.

            “When we get out of here… we are going to take Mace’s m-money and buy… the most needlessly expensive coat we can f-find,” he said finally. Obi-Wan glanced at the other man for several moments then relaxed as well.

            “Something soft maybe in Faleeneese wool?”

            “Oh, yes… with matching… g-gloves,” Qui-Gon replied flexing his fingers, a twinge of wistfulness in his tone. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and responded with a matching wistfulness.

            “And a blanket or two.”

            “In-d-deed.”

            “So it’s settled then. As soon as we escape, we are going shopping.”

 

*     *      *      *      *

 

            While the larger part of Gathegi City was slowly waking to engage in its business of the day, the smaller section known as the Burrows was finally ending its day as most of its “business” preferred the shadowy veil of night. The denizens of that quarter had, more or less, retreated back to their dens to rest and plot their next vocational endeavors. However, in a lone alley not far from the Broken Gundark Tavern, one was still at work.

            Nkiro had watched the two men for several blocks not entirely sure what had initially captured his attention about them, but it didn’t take long for him to be certain that these men were his. However, something about them was… odd. Their attire wasn’t unusual for this side of town, one in simple workman’s jacket, the other in tunic that had seen better days, but their gait, the way they carried themselves, tall, straight, effortless, that _was_ unusual. The two men spoke little as they walked and both were constantly checking the area around them, though the older of the two seemed the most wary. Nkiro had no trouble keeping his own surveillance hidden, but the fact that he actually had to told him that these men were no amateurs.

            Another odd thing was that the men didn’t appear to be heading to any particular destination. To Nkiro’s eye, the two seemed to be wandering aimlessly through the streets and alleys – not the smartest thing to do in the Burrows.

            Nkiro brushed a long lock of orange hair behind his ear as he followed the pair down yet another alleyway. He slowed his steps as he approached, mindful of the refuse and rubbish at his feet that would give away his position with one careless footfall. He could hear voices now, raised past the level of simple conversation. The pair was arguing. Interesting. Nkiro closed in on their position until he had them once again in his sight.

            “Whose permission did you have for that!” the younger yelled taking a step towards the other. The older, bigger man was shaking his head even as he shouted his answer back.

            “That was different! I was trying to save your life!”

            “Then you should have let me die!” the young one screamed back and Nkiro watched the old man fall back a step as if physically struck. The two stared at each other in the quiet that fell then, but it only lasted the span of a few heartbeats.

            “You should have let me die.”

            “That’s still an option,” Nkiro said as he stepped out into the alley his D-hac X2 blaster pointed at the two men. “No, no,” he warned as he saw the twitch of both men’s fingers. The motion was easy enough to read and even though Nkiro didn’t see any weapons holstered on their belts he was not a man to take unnecessary chances.

            “Let’s just keep those hands where I can see them. Wouldn’t want you to lose any digits or appendages over a misunderstanding.”

            “Who are you? What is it you want?” the older man said in a surprisingly calm voice. The man’s face and posture were relaxed, Nkiro noted. So, the man was used to being on the business end of a blaster barrel. Interesting.

            “Names and introductions, the way of civilized discourse are they not?  Very well, I’m going to call you ‘Whiskers’ and you,” Nkiro said as he threw a smirking glance at the younger man. “You I’m going to call ‘Lucky.’ As for me, well you can call me SOB because I’m the son of a bitch that’s about to ruin your day.”

 

*    *     *     *     *

 

            Qui-Gon stood unimpressed with the stranger’s bravado, but that did nothing to negate his feelings of disquiet. The man’s militant stance, yet relaxed aggression spoke of an ease with casual violence. The moment the man had spoken, Qui-Gon’s fingers reached reflexively for his lightsaber. Of course it wasn’t there and it wasn’t the only thing that was missing. Despite his convictions and his conscience, Qui-Gon felt an acute stab of remorse for having his Force sense severed, not for himself, but for his pada- for Obi-Wan. He would not be able to live with himself if something happened to the young man now because he was Force blind and unable to protect him.

            Qui-Gon continued to eye the man warily, though he projected himself as outwardly calm. Obi-Wan’s statement had rocked him far harder than he would have thought possible. The core of his being had disintegrated under the softly spoken words, but he could not deal with that fallout now. First, he had to attend to the stranger holding them at blaster point.

            “Perhaps that need not come to pass,” Qui-Gon began, his voice the same modulated baritone he had used to open any number of negotiations in the past. “As you can tell, we do not have much to offer you that holds any material value, but if you would share with us what it is you are after perhaps there is something we can do to assist you?”

            The stranger allowed himself a wide smile.

            “Stars above, that was probably the most eloquent ‘please don’t shoot me’ I have ever heard,” he replied still smiling, but as he shook his head the smile faded. “However, I’m afraid pretty words won’t change anything that’s going to happen here.”

            “And what do you believe is going to happen here?” Qui-Gon queried still impeccably serene.

            “You’re both going to put on these binders and you’re going to come with me. And I don’t _believe_ it’s going to happen, Whiskers. It _is_ going to happen,” the man answered as casually as one would an inquiry about the weather. The man then tossed the binders to their feet. Qui-Gon’s lip lifted in one corner.

            “I’m afraid we must decline your offer. However, we can be reasonable. Perhaps,”

            “Perhaps we change Lucky’s name,” the man said as he pointed his blaster squarely at Obi-Wan’s head. The distance between them was that of a few meters. Unless the stranger was an amazingly terrible shot he could kill Obi-Wan before Qui-Gon could do anything. And without the Force, Qui-Gon was too far to reach him to possibly take the blaster from him, but Obi-Wan wasn’t. Between Jedi reflexes and the Force, Qui-Gon was certain Obi-Wan could gain the upper hand on the swaggering stranger.

            “Please, there is no need for that,” Qui-Gon answered quickly as he raised his hands up in a clearly placating manner. “Please, just lower the blaster and we can talk this through.”

            “No talking. Put on the binders or you’re going to owe Lucky here one hell of an apology,” the stranger replied. Qui-Gon looked at the man, the blaster, and then Obi-Wan. Oh, if only he had the Force or their bond. If only he knew what Obi-Wan was thinking! Why hadn’t he attacked? Why did he just stand there?

            “You don’t believe me,” the stranger stated with a glance to Qui-Gon who still had not moved to put on the binders. “I get it. You don’t know me so you don’t know whether to believe I would do it or not,” he said with a shrug and then he turned his attention back to Obi-Wan.

            “What do you think?” he asked. “Do you think I will kill you?”

            Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan’s eyes focused on the man. There were several seconds of silence in which Qui-Gon assumed that Obi-Wan was using the Force to assess the man’s sincerity and the situation.

            “Do you think I will kill you?” the man repeated. Obi-Wan looked at him steadily.

            “No,” Obi-Wan answered.

            “Damn,” the man shook his head and sighed. “You’re right,” he said as he turned and something flashed from his hand faster than Qui-Gon could see.

            “No!”

            It was the pain in that cry that jerked him from his thoughts. He looked at Obi-Wan and saw an expression of wide-eyed horror. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but before he could speak a searing pain raced through his gut causing him to stagger forwards slightly. He looked down at his tunic. There was an unmistakable black circle of char surrounding a small hole in his tunic on his lower right side. Academically he recognized the wound for the danger it presented, but the lack of blood and gore fostered a rebellion to that knowledge and he found himself unable or unwilling to accept the gravity of the damage for all its suddenness. He swayed on his feet, but before he could regain his balance he felt a pair of strong arms grab him and lower him to the ground.

            “Master!”

            “Obi…” Qui-Gon spoke, but he was interrupted by a painful spasm as it rocketed through his frame. He was settled half on the ground half in Obi-Wan’s lap.

            “Belly wounds,” the stranger tsked above them. “Those are bad, painful, but they don’t have to be fatal. That is if one gets help quickly,” the stranger said as he looked down from what now seemed a towering height.

            Qui-Gon felt more than saw Obi-Wan shift behind him. His vision was tunneling, his thoughts slowing. Shock, he realized dimly. His ability to remain consciousness was threatening to slip away from him, so he forced himself to focus, to stay in the moment for as long as he was able.

            “What do you want?” he heard Obi-Wan speak above his head.

            “I want you to put on the kriffing binders. Then we will can talk about Whiskers not dying.”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

             “How did we get here?” he asked, his voice so low, so soft Obi-Wan almost missed it. Obi-Wan looked down at the head resting in his lap. He stroked the soft, caf colored locks, strands tinged with silver parting under his fingers like silk.

            “We were attacked. You were shot,” he answered still gently carding his fingers through the mass of hair. The head in his lap shook weakly.

            “Not here. _Here_. How did we get here?” the other protested. Obi-Wan stopped his gentle petting in confusion.

            “I don’t understand-” he began then realization hit him and the air suddenly grew thinner around him. He closed his eyes and willed himself not to starting gasping in response. He forced his lungs to take in a slow, long draw of air before releasing that same breath just as slowly.

            “I don’t know,” he finally answered. “I don’t know.”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Obi-Wan looked at the son of a bitch standing above him and then down at the pair of binders resting innocently on the ground between them. There was no decision to be made here. There was only the illusion of choice. He had seen the stranger’s eyes and thought himself capable of reading his actions, his intent. He had been wrong and it was Qui-Gon who was paying the price for his folly. The older man’s wound was deceptively neat hiding what Obi-Wan knew to be significant damage, but how significant he wasn’t sure. If they were lucky, the blast had missed major arteries and organs burning through only muscle and tissue. If they were not lucky, without formal medical intervention, Qui-Gon would die and, despite the appellation assigned to him by the stranger, Obi-Wan knew he was not Lucky.

            Obi-Wan eyes drifted from the circle of burnt cloth and flesh to Qui-Gon’s face. The usually noble visage bore the same lines he remembered though they were deepened with time and worry. The older man’s eyes were open, his pupils large and slightly unfocused. Obi-Wan carefully touched the man’s cheek as he leaned down.

            “Forgive me, Master,” he whispered. Qui-Gon made no noise, but an unmistakable grimace settled on his features causing Obi-Wan’s heart to contract painfully. He looked up at their captor who stood with his blaster still aimed at his head, a smug look of victory lingering in his eyes that made Obi-Wan’s stomach turn.

            “He needs medical attention.”

            “Then we need to get going,” the stranger replied then he added, “all of us.”

            “Qui-Gon is in no condition to,”

            “Patch him up,” the stranger replied as he reached into a pouch on his belt and withdrew some bacta patches. He tossed them to Obi-Wan who caught them easily. Obi-Wan wasted no time and carefully slid Qui-Gon’s head off his lap. As he opened the pack of patches a hand came to rest on his temporarily stilling his movements.

            “Obi-Wan…”

            “It’s alright. It’s going to be alright,” Obi-Wan repeated willing both Qui-Gon and himself to believe it. “I’m going to bandage your wound then we are going to get you some help.”

            Qui-Gon stared at him with an expression Obi-Wan couldn’t quite decipher, but then it was replaced by a grimace which snapped him back to action. Carefully he pulled the older man’s tunic up exposing the ghastly burn in his already battered torso. Qui-Gon hissed as melted fibers from his clothing pulled away from where they had stuck to his skin. With abundantly tender care, Obi-Wan placed the bacta-infused patch over the wound, just below the similar dressing he had placed around Qui-Gon’s broken ribs that morning, pushing down on its edges with only the necessary force to ensure that the bandage adhered. Once he had tended to the injury as much as his meager supplies and knowledge would allow, Obi-Wan looked back up the man who had shot his former master.

            “Your word,” he said, the short statement a clear demand though both knew he was in no position to do so. The stranger gave a short nod of his head. Knowing he was unlikely to get more, Obi-Wan decided to be satisfied. He reached forwards for the binders, Qui-Gon’s head still resting in his lap.

            “Put them on him first.”

            Obi-Wan shot him an incredulous glance, but the stranger shrugged it off and gestured to the binders with his blaster.

            “I’m a cautious man. Indulge me.”

            In his lap, Qui-Gon stirred. Obi-Wan brought his attention back to his once-master.

            “Qui-Gon?” he asked, the two syllables carrying a multitude of questions and concerns. Midnight blue eyes met his and Obi-Wan could almost see the subtle haze of pain hidden in their depths.

            “I am alright, Obi-Wan,” the older man uttered calmly though all three men knew his words were a lie. “Help me up, please.”

            Though clearly skeptical, Obi-Wan helped Qui-Gon up to first a sitting position and then to his feet. The older man made no verbal complaints, but the sudden hitches in his breath and tenseness in his frame betrayed his body’s struggle against the agony of his wound. Once on his feet, Qui-Gon took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he brought his hands together in front of him, a clear signal to Obi-Wan that he was ready. Hesitantly and with more than a passing glare at the stranger, Obi-Wan placed first Qui-Gon’s wrists into binders and then his own. Once they were both secured, the man stepped back and to the side waggling his blaster in the direction he had come from.

            “Let’s get moving.”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            The walk to the building that was to be their prison was slow going as the trio had to stop several times for Qui-Gon to catch his breath. Though every step must have been painful, the former Jedi never once complained save for the occasional grunt or grimace. But Obi-Wan had known this man too long not recognize the level of pain needed to warrant even those little concessions from the older man.

            The stranger, turned abductor, was surprisingly talkative along the way, pointing out infamous landmarks and nefarious characters of near legendary status as if he were directing a tour of the Burrows underworld. Neither Qui-Gon nor Obi-Wan engaged him or his commentary and the stranger seemed to require no response as he prattled along interspersing direction oriented commands as the made their way.

            A little way from their destination the stranger ordered them to stop and during the intermission saw that the two were blindfolded which made their progress even slower. Eventually, the two were led into a building of some sort, an old, ruined industrial type if the smell of rust and the cavernous echo were any indication. Their “cell,” Obi-Wan realized after his and Qui-Gon’s blindfolds were removed, was just a bare room. There was only one window, much too small for escape Obi-Wan noted with a frown, and one door though “door” was a generous term as the portal’s only physical barrier was a thin, flickering rayshield. In the room were two small, dubious looking pallets, no pillows, and only one threadbare blanket.

            Qui-Gon settled himself down on the far pallet with an audible hiss. Obi-Wan could tell the man’s complexion had paled even in the low light of the room and the gingerly way he held himself against the wall further broadcasted his discomfort. The older man, however, said nothing. He only closed his eyes and tilted back his head until it rested against the wall at his back, his bound wrists laying limply in his lap. Obi-Wan stood less than two meters distant unable to figure out what he should do with himself. He wanted to help Qui-Gon, but he didn’t know how. He wanted to get them out of there and to safety, but this too was beyond his means and meager abilities. He wanted to say something hopeful, something comforting, but no words can to his mind. So, he did none of those things. He simply stood there dumb with indecision, lost in a mire of his own making.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            “Do you have them?”

            “Of course.”

            “And their condition?”

            “A little worse for wear, but nothing too bad,” Nkiro said as he leaned back in his chair and propped his booted feet on his shabby desk. “I did have to shoot the older one though.”

            “You shot him?” the tiny blue holo-figure exclaimed.

            “Relax, Boss. I just shot him a little bit.”

            “And exactly how does one shoot someone ‘just a little bit?’ You know what, never mind,” the holo-figured sighed. “You do know, however, that this little… venture won’t succeed if he dies.”

            “Hey,” Nkiro began, swinging his long legs down from the desktop. “This whole thing was your idea, remember? You contacted me because you wanted to do something impossible and that’s what I do, the impossible.”

            “It isn’t your ability that I doubt just your,”

            “Judgment?”

            “Methods,” the holo answered. Nkiro leaned towards the small figure, his orange-gold eyes a fiery contrast to the cold, azure glow of the hologram.

            “You can call it off, but you would have never even tried something this… dangerous if the payoff wasn’t worth it. It is worth it, right?”

            “If you succeed, the payoff will be extraordinary,” the holo-figure said, he paused then added, “for all of us.”

            Nkiro leaned back in his chair again. He placed his hands behind his head as a Cheshire-like grin spread across his face.

            “With motivation like that, how can I fail?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Truth's Deceit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And what… is the truth?”  
> “That I’m not enough. That I never was.”   
> “That is not a truth I know.”   
> “You mock me.”  
> “Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the long wait, but my muse decided to take a sabbatical and left no forwarding address! This chapter has a bit of what most of you have been waiting for… a real conversation, but I assure you not everything is handled here. My boys carry A LOT of baggage so we still have some chapters ahead to sort it all.
> 
> Thanks to Maeve Pendergast, my wonderful beta. I couldn’t resist making some changes, therefore the errors are all mine.

            “You’ve been pacing for hours. Save your energy. A solution will present itself.”

            Obi-Wan stopped mid-perambulation at the softly spoken wisdom at his heel. It was true that he hadn’t ceased moving since their “arrival” to their cell. For as long as he could remember, movement was a way of applying a sort of balm to his overly anxious and restless soul. In his youth, he would have performed a series of particularly grueling katas or done a system of aerials on the training bars and rings. If nothing else, he would have run until his chest was heaving and his muscles burned hotly in protest, but here he could do none of that, so he paced… and paced… and paced. The series of truncated circuits barely burned off a fraction of his energy and yet as he allowed himself to fold ungracefully to sit on the floor, Obi-Wan found himself distinctly tired.

            For his part, Qui-Gon had scarcely moved from his seated position against the wall though Obi-Wan suspected that was largely due in deference to his injury rather than the simple patience he admonished.

            Though persuaded into stillness, Obi-Wan’s mind was still a simmering caldron of bubbling, half-formed thoughts and questions set to churning in a vat of emotions to numerous and slippery to release to the Force. Yet, somehow, a question did form on his lips, the words uttered before decency could retract them.

            “How long?”

            “What?” Qui-Gon replied, his eyes wide with what seemed to Obi-Wan as shock and maybe a touch of fear. But the question had now been asked and the words, now uttered, hung heavy in the air filling the space between them to the point of claustrophobia despite the size of the room.

            “How long have you been seeing him… well, me… I mean… how long have you been hallucinating me?” he clarified. Qui-Gon’s eyes narrowed a bit as bruised lids slid low and his gaze fell to the floor. He took a deep breath, then another before answering.

            “Too long,” he whispered. “Since not long after you left, though only recently have you begun to… talk to me.”

            The words had come out soft and hesitant – two words Obi-Wan had rarely, if ever, associated with the man that had been his master. He let his thoughts fly back to that morning in the rented room, only hours ago though it might as well have been eons. The look of sheer terror, the sort of base, primal fear he had seen in Qui-Gon’s midnight blue eyes, almost black with dilation, haunted Obi-Wan especially since he now knew he was the cause.

            “What,” he began his voice cracking in a way it hadn’t since puberty. He swallowed and tried again. “What do I… does _he_ say to you?”

            “All the things that hide in your heart,” Qui-Gon replied his gaze briefly meeting Obi-Wan’s before darting away again.

            “I don’t under-”

            “You tell me you hate me,” Qui-Gon continued, interrupting Obi-Wan’s statement of confusion. “You remind me how it is my fault that you’re gone, that I drove you away. How I am a selfish, foolish old man and how I hurt you over and over for years in my arrogance and stupidity. But mostly… mostly you remind me how much I need to suffer for what I’ve done to you, and how I will spend the remaining years of my miserable life working for atonement for crimes so heinous they have no hope of forgiveness or recompense.”

            During the entirety of his response, Qui-Gon never moved and yet somehow he seemed to grow smaller with each eloquent statement of damnation. The lines defining his once formidable frame grew hazy. The details of his leonine features blurred in a seemingly incomprehensible distortion of reality confusing Obi-Wan until he realized that the cause of the distortion was the tears in his eyes.

            “You think that is in my heart?” he asked, his usual crisp tenor wet with ache. Perhaps it was the choking sound of his voice or maybe it was the suddenly oppressive silence of their cell or maybe it was just a damn sense of morbid curiosity, but for whatever reason Qui-Gon chose that moment to lift his eyes and met Obi-Wan’s gaze.

            “Isn’t it?” he said, his voice holding slightly more bewilderment than fear. Obi-Wan shook his head.

            “No, not ever. Not even a little.”

            “But,” Qui-Gon stammered, “you said… you told me,”

            Obi-Wan reached out with his still manacled hands and took the older man’s face in his, holding it between his two lightly calloused palms.

            “It wasn’t me, Qui-Gon. I never said those things. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me,” he repeated as he stared into those oh-so-familiar eyes as if he could force the truth of his words into their cerulean depths. But the uncertainty he saw reflected in them remained unchanged and the older man’s words only confirmed it.

            “You said… you told me over and over… so angry… so hurt… pain,” he whimpered as he tried to pull away from Obi-Wan’s grasp. When he couldn’t escape he simply closed his eyes. Obi-Wan gave his head a little shake hoping to encourage him to once again open his eyes, but Qui-Gon stubbornly kept them shut.

            “Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan started then he hesitated and began again. “Master, how could I hate you when you have given me so much? I owe everything to you! Without you I would have been a farmer, just another lost initiate with too much anger and not enough sense. You tried to trained me. You tried to make me better than I was. It’s not your fault that I… that I wasn’t enough.”

            Bruised lids flew back revealing midnight blue orbs lit with a sudden ferocity that startled him.

            “Never,” Qui-Gon growled so low it was almost sub-audible. “You were always good enough. Better even. You were the best apprentice I could have ever asked for and you deserved a far better master than you received.”

            Obi-Wan didn’t even know how to begin to address such an incredible falsehood. After all, why would Qui-Gon say such a thing? To spare his feelings? To allow him a shred of pride? Obi-Wan’s jaw tightened. It was yet another show of compassion from his former master, compassion for him even after everything he put the older man through, even as he sat there with a blaster hole in his gut and trapped in a cell because of him, still Qui-Gon sought the kinder path. It awed and shamed him both. Why did he keep trying to tear down this titan of a man? Wasn’t the long failure of his apprenticeship enough?

            “Qui-Gon, you don’t have to say that. We both know,” he started, but Obi-Wan was interrupted by the rayshielded doorway suddenly deactivating with a brief hum and then silence. The same man from the alley, the man that shot Qui-Gon and brought them here, stood standing in the open portal an infuriating smirk on his lips.

            “Evening campers, are we ready to play?”

 

*    *     *     *     *

 

            Qui-Gon watched as a myriad of emotions paraded across Obi-Wan’s face, one after another. They all passed too quickly for each to be named, but he thought he recognized a few – surprise, sorrow, and resignation being chief among them.

            “Qui-Gon,” the young man started, “you don’t have to say that. We both know…” He didn’t finish the thought as the arrival of their captor ended all conversation between them. The man, whose name they still didn’t know, strolled into the room as if he were attending a social function and not surveying his prisoners.

            “Evening campers, are we ready to play?” the man said as he tucked a long lock of fiery orange hair behind his right ear. Beside him, he saw Obi-Wan tense and shift to the balls of his feet, curling his toes under him in preparation to launch though his form stayed crouched. It was an immensely subtle movement and yet it failed to go unnoticed.

            “Careful there, Lucky. We wouldn’t want anything else to happen to our dear friend now would we,” the man said as he glanced at the already injured master, a finger idly tapping one holstered blaster. Obi-Wan froze in his crouched position neither taking a more aggressive position nor uncurling from the one he had already assumed. Instead, his voice gave expression to the anger and frustration that his body could not.

            “He needs proper medical attention.”

            “So he does.”

            “You gave me your word.”

            “So I did,” the man answered casually. A deep furrow appeared between Obi-Wan’s brows. The man, for his part, looked quite at ease despite the incredible volitivity of the situation. Qui-Gon watched in well-guarded surprise as the man leaned comfortably against the wall close to the door. The man had a youthful appearance, though Qui-Gon was quite certain he was not young. There was an air of exceptional experience about the man that Qui-Gon couldn’t quite place or dismiss. Had he been able to access the Force perhaps he would have gleaned more, but as it was he was limited to his more rudimentary senses and a lifetime of experience sizing up opponents. The man wore the togs of a hardened spacer – bantha hide leather jacket, thick, multi-pocket trousers, simple light colored tunic, utility belt, worn boots that stopped below the knee, and at least two holsters that housed deadly blasters in plain view. He was clearly humanoid, all the right number of appendages in the proper place, but his facial features seemed absurdly human – his nose a little _too_ perfect, his jaw a bit _too_ square. In fact, there was nothing overly suspicious about the man _except_ for his distinct lack of conspicuity.

            The man tucked a loose bit of bright hair behind his ear, the rest was held in a long braid down his back, and eyed Obi-Wan directly as he crossed his arms on his chest and smiled.

            “The bacta patches will hold for a while a yet.”

            “You karking son of Hutt!” Obi-Wan snarled as moved to stand. Without thought Qui-Gon reached out a hand and placed it on the young man’s forearm. The sudden movement cost him and he was forced to grit his teeth as he choked on a sudden surge of pain. Obi-Wan aborted his advance and turned a clearly worried eye on his former master.

            “Master?”

            “I’m alright,” Qui-Gon answered giving the arm under his hand a gently squeeze and releasing it, but both knew the assertion was a lie. Instead of allowing the young man to dwell on it, Qui-Gon chose to speak directly to the man that had brought them here.

            “We’re here, you have us. What is it you want?”

            “What is it I want?” the man repeated, tilting his head to one side in apparent consideration. “I want nothing, Whiskers, but my… client, well, he wants a great deal.”

            Qui-Gon allowed the man’s words to bounce around the inside of his skull a bit. Client. So, the brigand that held them was a middle man of a sort. That narrowed the list of possibilities somewhat, but quite a few criminal or near-criminal career options remained. Slaver? Doubtful. Qui-Gon dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it formed. A slaver wouldn’t damage his merchandise so quickly and carelessly as this man had, unless… he wasn’t the intended merchandise… The thought chilled Qui-Gon to the core. He was not a young man, but Obi-Wan was. Young, healthy, athletic, and… attractive Qui-Gon was forced to admit. If that was this man’s aim, to sell Obi-Wan into slavery then why keep him around at all? He could have, _should_ have just let him die. On the other hand, perhaps the man had left him alive for leverage against Obi-Wan, but one did not need leverage against a slave except perhaps the threat of death.

            No, slaver seemed unlikely, so what then? Bounty hunter? Qui-Gon decided that was equally unlikely. There was no profit to be had in two former Jedi, especially one passed his prime and the other not even out of training. Hostages then? If so, the same questions were still begged. If they were leverage then against whom? Were they here for information? If so, as a master his knowledge would be far more expansive than Obi-Wan’s, but it was his life that had been put in jeopardy. Surely a better motivation would have been to use Obi-Wan’s safety against the master Jedi or former Jedi as it were.

            Qui-Gon explored all of these possibilities in a matter of heartbeats, but was left with as little insight as before he begun. Thus stymied, he had only one true option left.

            Bluff.

            “I don’t think you or your…client realizes what you have gotten yourself into,” Qui-Gon began then he deliberately lowered his voice in both tone and warmth. “Or the danger.”

            “Oh, I have a pretty good idea what I’ve got here,” the man laughed, but Qui-Gon kept his expression closed and icy.

            “Hardly, friend,” he replied, his usually baritone fairly dripping with condescension. The other man’s smirk fell, but only slightly. He stared directly back at the older man and Qui-Gon felt the uncomfortable weight of the man’s scrutiny.

            “Shall I tell you what I’ve got, Whiskers?” the man said at last. When Qui-Gon didn’t answer, the man continued.

            “I’ve got two failed _Jedi_ ,” he said and it was all Qui-Gon could do to keep the surprise off his face. Obi-Wan was less successful as Qui-Gon heard a gasp near his ear. There would be no bluff here.

            “One,” the man continued as he pointed to Qui-Gon. “Who allowed others to sever him from the Force and another,” he then pointed to Obi-Wan, “who did the same deed to himself. So, you see? I know exactly what I have gotten myself into and there is little danger in it.”

            The orange haired man finished his pronouncement with a smile, but Qui-Gon didn’t see it. His eyes were locked on the young man beside him, the young man who would no longer meet his gaze.

            “What does he mean?” he asked, but Obi-Wan gave no answer. He did not turn. He did not stir. He did not indicate in any way that he had even heard him. An unfamiliar fury began to build in the old master’s chest. He forced himself up the wall, moving his wounded body into a straighter position then with all the authority he used to command he spoke again.

            “You will answer me,” he demanded. Still Obi-Wan did not turn to face him, but the slope of his shoulders dipped noticeably lower.

            “I… can barely feel the Force anymore and… I can’t use it all,” came the soft reply. Qui-Gon shook his head several times as if to physically negate the words the young man had uttered. A dozen questions wanted to leap off his tongue, but only one took flight.

            “Why?”

            “I… it…,” a deep sigh. “It’s complicated,” Obi-Wan answered, back still turned. Qui-Gon opened his mouth to say something more, but their damnable jailor beat him to it.

            “Hardly,” the man interjected. Obi-Wan’s head darted up as he glared at the man. No, not a glare. A plea?

            “Please… don’t,” Obi-Wan whispered. The man proceeded as if he had heard nothing. He turned his eyes on Qui-Gon.

            “Deathsticks. Lucky here enjoys his deathsticks,” the man said then frowned. “Nasty habit really. It gets in your teeth, your hair… and I guess it really kriffs up a person’s Force sense if they have one, but I suppose everyone has their vice, right Whiskers?”

            Qui-Gon didn’t answer. He wasn’t listening. He hadn’t a heard anything after that single word: deathsticks. Deathsticks were as an anathema to Jedi as the Light was to the Dark. They were one of the few substances that could thoroughly destroy a being’s connection to the Force leaving him or her effectively and permanently Force blind. It was something no Jedi would do voluntarily and certainly not his padawan, not his Obi-Wan. There had to be another explanation. There had to be.

            “Well, this was fun,” the man said breaking the tense silence with the ease and comfort of a man without a stake in the pain present around him. Without another word or threat their mysterious and nonchalant jailor sauntered out of the room and reactivating the rayshield behind him. Qui-Gon kept his eyes on his former padawan, scarcely noting the other man’s departure. He reached out again to touch the man’s arm, but this time Obi-Wan pulled away from him the moment contact was made. Qui-Gon would allow this small retreat, but not a full one.

            “Obi-Wan, talk to me,” he asked, but the only answer he received was silence. Qui-Gon wanted to stand up, to pull the young man up with him, and shake the answers out of him if necessary, but the constant ache in his side was steady blossoming into a throbbing pain that sought to steal his focus centimeter by centimeter.

            “Obi-Wan, please. Please, talk to me.” Qui-Gon sat waiting. As the silence stretched on the older man began to believe he would never get a response, but then a whisper, barely a breath, was born into the vast quiet.

            “I’m sorry.”

            The answer was both unexpected and completely unsurprising. Leave it to his former padawan to apologize for an injury done only to himself. Qui-Gon held back a sigh. Of all the negative aspects of Obi-Wan’s personality, the young man had grown out of all save two and those were the two powerful opponents he faced now – his tendency to brood and his assumption of unnecessary guilt. During the course of their tumultuous master-apprentice relationship, Qui-Gon had learned the hard way that dismissal of these twin traits caused Obi-Wan to dig his heels in and entrench himself deeper into his guilt. Arguing from a rhetorical position of authority would earn him a similar result. What Obi-Wan responded to best was the one thing Qui-Gon had always had the most difficulty in giving: honesty. If he wanted Obi-Wan to open up to him now, Qui-Gon would have to be open and honest with him. He would have to be vulnerable in a way that he had only been when facing the wrath of the younger man’s doppelgänger.

            Qui-Gon took a deep breath.

            “The Council nearly denied me, you know,” he began speaking to the open air. He didn’t look at Obi-Wan’s back anymore choosing instead to stare at a random spot in space. “They didn’t want to do it. They didn’t see a reason for it. Mace was especially… vocal. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t,” Qui-Gon paused and shook his head. “But he allowed it, as did they all.”

            “Why?” Obi-Wan asked quietly turning his head over his shoulder to glance back at his former master.

            “Because they recognized it was my choice,” he answered. Obi-Wan shook his head.

            “No. Why did you do it?”

            Qui-Gon was silent for several seconds as he tried to force too square words into too round feelings. At length, he opened his mouth to speak.

            “There was this… wound inside me, a deep and churning void within my mind. The Force wouldn’t answer me anymore. Its silence surrounded me, followed me where ever I went yet I was alone in a completeness so profound that I was lost in it. I knew the Force had turned its back on me just as I had turned my back on everything for which I had ever stood, the Code, the Jedi… you. Given all this, severing my connection didn’t seem that much of a sacrifice,” he said, pausing then he added, “why did you do it?”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Why indeed. It was a question Obi-Wan had asked himself many times and each time he was left with only one answer.

            “I didn’t deserve it anymore. Not after… not after what I did,” he answered quietly turning his back once again. He waited for the older man to say something, to press him for the details of his damnation, but nothing more was said and soon the silence weighed upon his shoulders heavier than any words could.

            “Say something… please…”

            A deep sigh and some quiet shifting followed.

            “What would you like me to say, Obi-Wan?”

            “The truth,” came the miserable reply. More shifting was heard followed by a poorly concealed cough.

            “And what… is the truth?”

            “That I’m not enough. That I never was,” came the quiet response. Obi-Wan turned to face Qui-Gon, his blue-gray eyes made glassy with desolation and despair. The older man didn’t move. The former master just sat there, still as stone, one arm wrapped tightly around his torso, the other propping his body up. But those midnight blue eyes were trained on Obi-Wan, pinning the younger man down into a similar stillness.

            “That is not a truth I know,” Qui-Gon replied softly, his tone far too calm for Obi-Wan’s liking.

            “You mock me.”

            “Never,” Qui-Gon answered with a shake of his head. His graying mane fell in tangled wisps around his head wrapping him in silky, dancing shadow. “You and I see things differently yet I wish with all my heart that I knew how to change that. If you could see yourself as I see you,”

            “It wouldn’t change anything! How do you see anything different? You _know_ the truth! You know what I am! You saw it when you went into my head! You saw!” Obi-Wan yelled as he staggered to his feet and resumed his pacing pattern from earlier.

            “Yes,” Qui-Gon replied his voice subdued in comparison. “I was in your head and I did see, but not what you think. What I saw was not _your_ failures, but my own. You didn’t fail me, Obi-Wan. It was I who failed you.”

            “No! I had too much anger.”

            “You were a child with a child’s temper.”

            “I deserted the Order! I drew my saber on you!”

            “To defend a cause greater than yourself.”

            “I KILLED TAHL!” Obi-Wan screamed as he came to an abrupt stop in front of Qui-Gon. The words hung in the air between them like a guillotine waiting for just one wrong word to send the blade crashing down permanently sundering any lingering point of connection between the them.

            “You loved her and I killed her. I killed her by being stupid and slow. I won’t have anyone else’s blood on my hands!”

            “Your hands are clean, Obi-Wan. They’ve always been, but if it would ease your mind and your heart know that you are forgiven for the injuries you believe you’ve caused,” the older man replied calm as ever, calm and perhaps a little sad. That observation gave Obi-Wan pause and some of the righteous and furious guilt bled off his thin frame.

            “How can you forgive me so easily?” he asked from his position still towering over the older man. Qui-Gon gave him a small but rueful smile.

            “Because it was never your fault, Padawan,” he replied and Obi-Wan felt his anger and grief crack with a thousand tiny fissures. He let himself fall into a lump near his former master but not quite touching. He pulled his knees in tight to his chest wrapping his arms about himself. He rested his head on his knees, his face turned away from the man he once called master.

            “At first, I didn’t remember what happened. When I woke, it was all so confusing… but then I remembered… the Council, Anakin, you... all of it,” he paused with a deep sigh. “I spent ten years making sure you would never know, never see that… thing inside me. After you had… I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t face you knowing that you _knew_. Then I saw you. You were… unconscious and hurt because of me and I knew I had done it again. I had hurt someone I cared about. You were right to choose Anakin. I understood that and I understood that you needed to be free, so I left. I took what meager savings I had and ran as far away as I could get and then… I just wanted you to be free of me, once and for all, so… I severed the training bond and in doing so I hurt you again. I’m sorry.”

            “Do you…,” Qui-Gon paused to clear his throat. “Do you remember Kett?”

            Obi-Wan frowned, but didn’t turn his head. The seemingly non-sequitur confused him, but he answered anyway.

            “The treaty ratification?” he replied. A short silence followed and he imagined that Qui-Gon was nodding his head.

            “Yes. The faction leaders were growing restless and frustrated with each other and you were frustrated with them all for ignoring you because you were young and they thought you had nothing to offer. Yet, it was you who finally brought them all back to the negotiating table, expertly diffusing all of their petty squabbles, and turning their focus back to constructing a lasting peace. Which they did. It was then I realized that I had been selfish and held you back too long. I resolved to draft the petition for your trials once we returned to Coruscant, but then we were sent out again.”

            “To Naboo,” Obi-Wan filled in. Another deep sighed was heard to his left.

            “To Naboo,” Qui-Gon repeated.

            “Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “Because I am a selfish old man, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon began. Obi-Wan turned his head to look at his former master, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

            “You were ready to be a knight, but I was not ready to let you go,” Qui-Gon continued, but his gaze dropped with his voice. “But in doing so, I lost you and then I lost myself.” Qui-Gon raised his eyes to meet Obi-Wan’s again.

            “I am sorry, Obi-Wan.”

            Obi-Wan felt himself reeling at those softly spoken words. His master _had_ thought him ready for his trials. He wasn’t being pushed out, but instead he was being pushed forward. It was glad news, but Obi-Wan had a hard time reconciling the new information with his heart. It was like glimpsing into a parallel universe. Things made sense, but in a manner that was completely alien to him. In Qui-Gon’s words he could see his mirrored self, him, but not him. And yet, Obi-Wan ached to be that person. He wanted to _be_ that man, that Jedi, that his master had seen in him, but it was too late for that. Far too late.

            “Master Windu says I’m brain damaged,” he spoke breaking the dense quiet of their space. “He said that’s why I can’t meditate or shield properly. It’s why I have so little control anymore. I couldn’t even go to Bant’s pyre ceremony because I broadcast,” he said then he turned his gaze away again. “The deathsticks. I know what’s they’re doing to me, but… when I use them… I feel… peace… at least for a little while.”

            “I understand. Perhaps too well,” Qui-Gon answered. Obi-Wan turned his head back.

            “So goes the master?” he asked meekly.

            “So the apprentice,” Qui-Gon answered equally tame. Obi-Wan lifted his bound hands from where they were wrapped around his legs. He stretched himself out and tried to adjust his body into a more comfortable position on the hard floor. He ended up closer to the other man though still not quite touching. He looked to other man and narrowed his eyes. Qui-Gon was leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed. He pallor bore a sickly hue and the skin under his eyes was bruised dark. One arm still clutched his side and Obi-Wan thought he saw a tremor pass through the rangy frame.

            “Master?” he whispered. Qui-Gon’s eyes opened and he smiled lightly.

            “Don’t worry. I’m not dead yet,” he answered with a touch of humor that did not reach his eyes. Obi-Wan’s concern skyrocketed. He turned fully to the other man and brought his manacled hands to the other’s forehead.

            “Force! You’re burning up! The wound must be infected,” he said as his hands made their to Qui-Gon’s wound, but the older man kept his arm firmly in place effectively preventing Obi-Wan from seeing or tending to it.

            “Perhaps,” he grated out as another, stronger shiver passed through him. “But there is little that can be done about it at the present. Leave it be.”

            For a moment, Obi-Wan considered arguing, but he ultimately decided to wait – partly because Qui-Gon was right, but mostly because he knew that stubborn set of his jaw all too well from his apprenticeship. Instead, Obi-Wan retrieved the room’s solitary and thin, scratchy blanket and draped it over the older man. Qui-Gon’s eyes closed again, but there was a tenseness in his forehead that spoke of pain he had not voiced. Obi-Wan pulled in closer to the man and wrapped one arm around him with the sort of protective affection that he never thought to feel again.

            “Don’t worry, Master. We will get out of this. Everything will be alright. Get some rest,” he said warmly and, after sometime, they both fell asleep to the happy lie.

           

 


	6. The One in the Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is it you want from me?”  
> “Only for you to do what a Jedi never would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Maeve Pendergast, my wonderful beta. I couldn’t resist making some changes, therefore the errors are all mine.

Obi-Wan awoke with an unfamiliar suddenness. In the past, wakefulness had always come to him slowly, apart from those times he and his master rested in a battle zone or on the run. Mornings were generally the worst, his body sluggish as it stumbled through his ablutions, his mind not fully engaged until hot tea was introduced into his system. So, when he found himself thrust into consciousness with all the subtlety of being doused with cold water, Obi-Wan was understandably surprised and little wary.

            Obi-Wan lifted his head and took stock of his surroundings. He and Qui-Gon were still trapped in the small, empty room. They were both still seated on the floor against the wall, the older man still wrapped in Obi-Wan’s clumsy, manacled embrace. The thin blanket he had draped around Qui-Gon had fallen between them in a crumpled pool of threadbare fabric. Qui-Gon had probably shifted to let the blanket slip off in his sleep considering how warm the man felt now. Obi-Wan frowned. Qui-Gon was warm, yet his own skin was pimpled and cool. He carefully drew his arms up and away from Qui-Gon, hoping to allow the man to continue to sleep even as he placed a cool hand on the man’s forehead. Obi-Wan’s frown deepened and a spike of worry wormed its way through his chest.

            Qui-Gon shifted slightly from where he leaned against Obi-Wan’s chest. A shiver passed through the older man’s frame and Obi-Wan’s worry increased. He gently fingered a sweaty lock of hair off the older man’s forehead. Qui-Gon’s brow creased. Slowly lids lifted to reveal midnight blue eyes that were glassy with fever.

            “Hello there,” Obi-Wan said as looked down into Qui-Gon’s leonine features. The older man grimaced though Obi-Wan believed it might have been intended as a smile. “How are you feeling?”

            “Like I’ve been shot… and… slept on the floor,” Qui-Gon replied, his voice raspy and tense. “The company is welcomed though.”

            Obi-Wan appreciated the man’s attempt at levity, but the heat radiating off the man’s skin kept him from indulging in it.

            “You’re burning up,” he intoned, surprising even himself at the evenness of his voice. Qui-Gon pushed himself up with obvious effort, grimacing even as Obi-Wan helped to steady him straight up against the wall.

            “Funny,” he said settling his left arm across his torso in a slow, careful movement. “I rather feel like I’m freezing,” he finished another shiver punctuating his statement. Obi-Wan failed to take the bait.

            “I’m serious. Your wound must be infected,” he replied. Qui-Gon leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

            “I suspect you’re right,” he answered. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and tried to swallow the rush of anger that crawled up his throat. His hands sat in his lap, wrists bound together, fingers curled tightly into fists.

            “You need medical attention. Now.”

            “I would not be opposed to such an intervention.”    

            “This is serious, Qui-Gon,” he snapped. The subject of Obi-Wan’s ire opened his eyes likely in response to the harsh tones. Qui-Gon’s expression looked at first chagrined and then slightly sad.

            “I know. I’m sorry. I… I did n-not mean to b-belittle your concern or our situation,” he replied as another chill took him. The distress in his voice, mild as it was, stole away most of Obi-Wan’s anger. A deep breath and a slow blink released the rest.

            “No, it is I who am sorry, Master. I should not have lost my temper.”

            Qui-Gon raised his hand to make a dismissive gesture, but stopped abruptly as his expression contorted in pain. His left arm clamped back across his torso, his right arm collapsed sending him sliding to his side. Obi-Wan awkwardly caught Qui-Gon’s head in his lap. A low groan echoed in the small chamber as Qui-Gon pulled tighter into himself, curling in a near fetal position. Obi-Wan held the older man as best he could, his bound hands limiting his movements. For several minutes, Qui-Gon made no further sounds save several heavy huffs and gasps as new shocks of pain and cold lanced through him. Through it all, Obi-Wan tried to offer what comfort he could, inwardly cursing his own impotence, outwardly murmuring soft words of reassurance.

            At length, the agonizing spasms ran their course leaving the older man in a shuddering, but silent heap. Qui-Gon’s head lay on his thighs, the top of his head pressed against Obi-Wan’s abdomen, his chin tucked down into his own chest obscuring what Obi-Wan knew to be pain riddled features. The two remained like that for several long minutes as Obi-Wan gently carded through the brown and silver locks, the motion calming and lulling to him and perhaps the former master as well.

            “I admit this is not how I saw the day going,” Obi-Wan said as he shifted his weight from one hip to the other. A low huff echoed slightly to his left.

            “You? Had I known… I would be here, I… would have opted f-for… a coat or at least… a heavier… t-tunic,” Qui-Gon growled between gasps.

            “Nothing fur-lined I hope,” Obi-Wan remarked with a deadpan expression. Qui-Gon’s mouth formed a thin line as he turned away from the younger man at his right. He stared out in front of him in silence for several heartbeats.

            “When we get out of here… we are going to take Mace’s m-money and buy… the most needlessly expensive coat we can f-find,” he said finally. Obi-Wan glanced at the other man for several moments then relaxed as well.

            “Something soft maybe in Faleeneese wool?”

            “Oh, yes… with matching… g-gloves,” Qui-Gon replied flexing his fingers, a twinge of wistfulness in his tone. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and responded with a matching wistfulness.

            “And a blanket or two.”

            “In-d-deed.”

            “So it’s settled then. As soon as we escape, we are going shopping.”

            The levity, though brief, had been welcomed as Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon’s breathing take on a smoother, less urgent rhythm.

            Hours passed, or at least it felt like hours to Obi-Wan’s remaining time sense. Qui-Gon had drifted into a troubled sleep, low groans of persistent hurt escaping his chest even in his unconscious state. Obi-Wan kept his own eyes closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t even resting. He told himself he was thinking, analyzing his options to form a plan for escape, but the truth was he was brooding. He wasn’t analyzing options because they had none. There would be no last minute rescue or reprieve and he wasn’t strong enough to effect escape on his own. His use of deathsticks had seen to that… that and his own intrinsic uselessness. Obi-Wan opened his eyes and sighed, trying to push away the growing tide of despair that threatened to drown him every time he closed his eyes.

            “How did we get here?” Qui-Gon asked, his voice so low, so soft Obi-Wan almost missed it. Obi-Wan looked down at the head resting in his lap. He stroked the soft, caf colored locks, strands tinged with silver parting under his fingers like silk.

            “We were attacked. You were shot,” he answered still gently carding his fingers through the mass of hair. The head in his lap shook weakly.

            “Not here. _Here_. How did we get here?” the other protested. Obi-Wan stopped his gentle petting in confusion.

            “I don’t understand-” he began then realization hit him and the air suddenly grew thinner around him. He closed his eyes and willed himself not to starting gasping in response. He forced his lungs to take in a slow, long draw of air before releasing that same breath just as slowly.

            “I don’t know,” he finally answered. “I don’t know.”

            Qui-Gon’s skin was still blazing under his fingertips, but the older man had stopped shivering for the moment. This new phase seemed to be punctuated with fewer agonizing spasms and more moments of fevered confusion.

            “I’m sorry I took so long to choose you,” Qui-Gon said after a long silence. The

statement surprised Obi-Wan and he was glad that Qui-Gon’s head was turned to look out to the far wall and not up at his face.

            “It’s alright, Master. It was a long time ago.”

            “I was so afraid.”

            “Afraid of what, Master?”

            “I was afraid that…,” Qui-Gon paused for so long Obi-Wan began to believe he would not finish, but then the older man’s breath hitched and the confession continued.

            “That you would be like him,” Qui-Gon finished. Obi-Wan nodded though he knew the other man could not see the movement. He knew of this old fear in his master. The wound Xanatos left when he betrayed Qui-Gon was a wound that was still unhealed when Obi-Wan had met the older Jedi. It was the ghost that haunted him during the first years of his apprenticeship only being laid to rest with Xanatos’s death on Telos. Despite the myriad of failures and insecurities Obi-Wan held within him, the one thing he was fairly certain of was that he was _not_ like Xanatos. It was something he had thought Qui-Gon had come to believe as well.

            “I’m not like him, Master. I will never betray you. I promise,” he whispered, but the lined expression on his master’s face did not ease or lessen.

            “But you are like him. I made him hate me. I drove him away and I lost him,” Qui-Gon replied, his gaze still aimed straight ahead at an empty wall. His voice was soft and weary. To Obi-Wan’s ears it felt as if the man were speaking to him from across a great chasm and not from a mere breath away at his lap.

            “And now I’ve done the same to you.”

            “No,” Obi-Wan answered firmly, but his hands were gentle as they tilted the older man’s face towards his so he could see his eyes. “No, Master. I don’t hate you and you haven’t lost me. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

            “But you did. You ran away from me.”

            “No, I ran away from myself,” Obi-Wan answered without thinking. His eyes went wide in shock as the words now uttered struck an unknown chord within him. He needed time to think, time to process the import and implications of this revelation, but he had no time to do so as the white noise hum of the rayshield blinked into silence once more.

 

*     *     *     *     *

           

            “Well that would seem a rather futile endeavor,” the now familiar stranger spoke as he stepped into the room. Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan’s grip on him tighten in response to the other man’s presence. In his semi-delirious state, the gesture was soothing to Qui-Gon on a very primitive level. The sensation of being wanted, valued, protected was not something he had ever truly felt before, at least not this strongly, this surely. Strange that he would feel that way now, he mused idly. He felt the body behind his head tense.

            “Honor your word or get out,” Obi-Wan growled above Qui-Gon’s head, the tone of the younger man’s voice protective with more than a hint of threat. Qui-Gon wondered at the wisdom of that but he lacked the energy to follow the thought further. It was taking everything he had to accept the agony radiating from his blaster wound and breathe through it since he could no longer draw upon the Force to ease his suffering.

            “Temper, temper, Lucky. Is that any way to greet a friend?”

            The words of their abductor brought Qui-Gon’s attention back around to the moment. He allowed his eyes to slowly track to the man who stood a few meters away looking as relaxed as ever. He noted fuzzily that he had never seen any other guards or henchmen. Always only their sardonic captor, his smirk and blasters on full display. Qui-Gon’s attention drifted again as he felt Obi-Wan shift beneath his head. He wasn’t certain, but it felt like the younger man was preparing to rise or, at least, to be in a position to rise quickly if needed.

            “You promised you’d help him,” Obi-Wan intoned overhead. The other man nodded his expression more solemn than usual.

            “So I did and so I will,” the man replied and Qui-Gon could feel the tiniest bit of tension ease out of Obi-Wan’s frame. He, too, felt the hope of help bloom in his chest providing a counterpoint of focus to the pain, but then the man continued speaking and Qui-Gon’s new found hope winked out of existence, scattered like ash against a gust of breath.

            “But for me to do so, you will have to do something in return.”

            “Anything.”

            “No.”

            Obi-Wan’s eyes were wide as they looked down on Qui-Gon, but the older man wasn’t sure if the cause was shock or furious indignation. It made little difference though. Qui-Gon was not so far gone as to miss the ominous tint of their captor’s bargain. He would not permit Obi-Wan to jeopardize himself further on his behalf. Not while he still drew breath, a time frame that he could admit was drawing noticeably short.

            “No, Obi-Wan. You must not,” Qui-Gon said as he held the blue-gray gaze hovering above him with all the masterly intimidation he could muster. The frown on Obi-Wan’s face informed him that he was less than successful.

            “You will not die, Qui-Gon, not while I can prevent it.”

            “The cost,” he persisted, but Obi-Wan shook his head.

            “Is mine to bear,” the younger man replied shortly then Qui-Gon noticed some of the sharpness flee Obi-Wan’s features. “I cannot, I _will not_ standby and do nothing, Master. Do not ask that of me,” he said his voice just a whisper above Qui-Gon’s head. Qui-Gon wanted to speak. He wanted to refuse the gently spoken request, but he found he could not. Not matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much sense it made for the younger man to just let him go, Qui-Gon knew he had not the ground to deny Obi-Wan this decision, foolish as it was. Still, he could not ignore the extreme foreboding he had felt in the stranger’s words and he deeply feared the cost that Obi-Wan dismissed so easily.

            “Save him and I will do what you want,” Obi-Wan said as he looked up at the stranger, his expression looking somewhere between resigned and defiant. At another time, under other circumstances, Qui-Gon might have chuckled at the younger man’s ability to look as disarming as a kitten while still baring the fangs of a fully grown nexu.

            “You have a deal, Lucky,” the stranger said with a smile Qui-Gon could only describe as enigmatic. “Lay him down and back away,” the man said and Obi-Wan seemed to hesitate for a moment, but only a moment, before carefully lifting Qui-Gon’s head off his lap and placing him on the floor. Then the younger man stood up and slowly backed away from Qui-Gon’s supine form. He continued to step away until he reached the far wall several meters away. Apparently satisfied, the stranger confidently approached the older man. Qui-Gon tracked the man’s movements like a wounded animal would a stalking predator, after all there was little more that he could do. He did not like it, this… excessive vulnerability, but what he did not like and what he wanted had no bearing on what _was_. The stranger knelt on a single knee and looked in Qui-Gon’s eyes.

            “You are a stubborn man, Whiskers. I will give you that,” the stranger said as he delicately removed the worn bandage from Qui-Gon’s torso. The wound had once been an amoeba-shaped mass of angry red tissue and blackened, charred skin. Now, however, a multitude of a pale yellows, greens, and deep purples grew in patches along the wound’s edge like some putrescent paint by numbers. Obi-Wan shifted forwards as Qui-Gon failed to choke down a groan. A glance from the stranger halted the young man’s movements, but not his questions.

            “Where’s your medkit? Your supplies?”

            “I have everything I need,” the stranger answered simply. Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan’s foot shift once more as if the man were preparing for battle. Perhaps he was and, if so, perhaps that meant Obi-Wan had given up the ridiculous notion that buying Qui-Gon’s life was worth selling his soul.

            “That isn’t just some minor scrape! It’s a blaster wound! One you put there! One that is now infected for your lack of treatment! If you aren’t taking this seriously,”

            “If you mean the fact that Whiskers is dying while you pointlessly yell out your frustrations, then yes, Lucky, I am aware of your situation’s seriousness,” the stranger interrupted with a calmness that belied his words.

            “Then help him!” Obi-Wan begged-screamed.

            “And here I heard Jedi were trained in patience,” the stranger muttered seemingly to himself as he placed his right hand over the center of the wound. The contact caused Qui-Gon to hiss in pain, but the stranger ignored him, closing his eyes. For several moments, the stranger just… sat there, unmoving, his hand pressed to Qui-Gon’s diseased abdomen. Qui-Gon momentarily wondered if his fevered confusion were returning or that, maybe, it had never left as this scene – which made absolutely no sense – could be easily explained if he were still caught in the grips of his delirium. He didn’t feel as feverish as before, but there was an unusual warmth growing in his side. Qui-Gon had barely begun to process the implications of what that strange heat could mean when he heard Obi-Wan’s voice cut through the quiet of the room.

            “You’re Force healing him!” he shouted and Qui-Gon’s attention snapped to the eyes of the stranger kneeling next to him. The man’s eyes were still closed and Qui-Gon’s gaze drifted down to the flesh under the man’s hands. He watched as the torn and charred skin began to grow, stretch, and knit itself back together, the discolored patches of infection fading into healthy shades of pink. Obi-Wan was correct. This was a Force healing, but one unlike Qui-Gon had ever seen. Even the best healers could not repair a wound like his so quickly. The sheer amount of power the stranger had to be channeling was astounding. Qui-Gon wished fervently at that moment he could have sensed the Force and in turn received a better understanding of exactly what kind of man they were dealing with, but that knowledge was lost to him and, from what he had recently learned, it seemed it was likely lost to Obi-Wan as well.

            “Who are you? _What_ are you?” the younger man suddenly yelled breaking Qui-Gon from his pondering. The stranger, for his part, removed his hand from Qui-Gon’s side and rose to his feet shaking his head. His usual smirk was gone.

            “You young ones know so very little,” he replied his tone almost… sad to Qui-Gon’s ears. The change in tone encouraged a far less pained Qui-Gon to try a different approach.

            “Thank you,” he said his sincerity clear in his voice. It was a sentiment he only partially felt. True he was glad to be healed, to be alive and aware once again, but the yet unspoken cost of his recovery concerned him greatly and could not be ignored. His voice seemed to break through Obi-Wan’s laser-like focus on the stranger. Blue-gray eyes met his, begging to hear an answer to a question not yet asked. But it was not necessary to have their old bond to know Obi-Wan’s thoughts at that moment. Qui-Gon gave a slight nod of his head and the younger hurried over to him taking a seat on the floor with a thought or glance to their still armed, still very near captor. Obi-Wan’s hands moved about Qui-Gon’s side carefully, but searchingly. The younger man seemed intent on examining every inch of the skin that once housed the horrific injury. No trace of the blaster wound or its infection remained. Qui-Gon was as whole and healthy as he was the morning he woke in Obi-Wan’s room – which, perhaps, wasn’t saying much but definitely exceeded his state of the past hours. Obi-Wan’s fingers continued to lightly sweep across his side until, at last, Qui-Gon grabbed the hands and forced them to still.

            “I am well, Obi-Wan,” he said and the blue-gray orbs once again met his.

            “I’m glad,” Obi-Wan replied the relief in his eyes was unmistakable and frightened Qui-Gon all the more. The young man must have seen the shifting emotions in his eyes because the relief that was there only moments earlier was replaced with a shadow of dread that blinked away into resignation. Obi-Wan turned and came to his feet, Qui-Gon following only a heartbeat later. They both brought their focus to their captor, but it was Obi-Wan who spoke.

            “You kept to your word and healed my master,” he said apparently not noticing his slip in title. “Now, I will keep my word. What is it you want from me?”

            “Only for you to do what a Jedi never would,” the stranger replied. His characteristic and often infuriating half grin was back. Neither Qui-Gon nor Obi-Wan could return his smile.

            “We will not do the work of the Dark,” Qui-Gon began then he paused adding, “or the Sith.” The statement was part declaration part challenge, but the stranger did not take the bait.

            “He,” the stranger stated with a pointed look at Obi-Wan, “will do what he must. Won’t you?”

            There was only the briefest of hesitation before answering.

            “Yes.”

            “Good,” the stranger clapped his hands together as if ending a productive business meeting. “I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a very, very long day,” he said then he turned to leave the room. Just as he stepped through the doorway and reactivated the rayshield, Obi-Wan called out.

            “Who… who are you?”

            The stranger turned his head, but didn’t look past his shoulder.

            “Me? I’m just the one in the middle.”

 

 


	7. Unbroken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who are you?”  
> “For our purposes, you may call me Nkiro.”  
> “What are you?”  
> “Even if I told you, it wouldn’t make a difference.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, okay… I know things have been a little slow action wise in this story, but considering the rift I put between these two in part one I felt that if I rushed into a happy reunion it would feel inauthentic. That said, this should be the last of the “slow chapters.” Chapter eight will pick up the pace significantly. Hope you’re still reading and hope you’re still enjoying it!
> 
> Thanks to Maeve Pendergast, my wonderful beta. I couldn’t resist making some changes, therefore the errors are all mine.

            It was a long while before another sound challenged the quiet hum of the activated rayshield. Qui-Gon stood against the wall, his shoulders hunched, his fingers flexing the only outward indication of his nervous tension. His renewed health, though welcomed, had done nothing to provide him with the strength to speak to the young man who stood silently beside him. He leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath. Before, when he was a Jedi, he would have used such an exercise to center himself in the Force, but that was a lifetime ago. Now, the slow breathing was simply a physiological tool to keep the uncomfortably warm and churning nausea he felt at bay. And even that met with little success.

            “You’ve done it again, you know. I always knew you would. You’ve damned me again.”

            The cultured, bitter voice forced Qui-Gon’s eyes to snap open. In front of him stood Obi-Wan, clad in pristine padawan robes, a long copper colored braid hanging in front of his chest. Without moving a muscle, Qui-Gon slide his gaze to his right. There also stood Obi-Wan, dressed in simple clothes, his auburn hair brushing his back and shoulders untidily, his back turned to his former master. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and tried to swallow with a mouth suddenly gone dry. He was hallucinating again. A deep, desperate part of him had hoped that Obi-Wan, the real Obi-Wan, had banished the hateful apparition from his life, but some demons refused to excised.

            “What? You thought I was gone? That you were rid of me?” the dulcet voiced crowed dripping with false sweetness like the pour of poisoned honey. Qui-Gon shut his eyes tighter, his mouth pressed into a hard, thin line. He would not speak. He would not acknowledge the… _thing_ that pretended to be his padawan. It was a hallucination. A figment of his guilty and addled mind, nothing more. The real Obi-Wan stood within arm’s reach beside him. He had to remember that, to force himself to accept the truth of that even as the _other’s_ words caused his stomach to rebel more and his hands to shake.

            “What you think you can ignore me?” the other said sharply and suddenly Qui-Gon could _feel_ hot breath against his face. He turned his head away from it, but the sensation remained.

            “I will not be ignored! I will not go away!” the voice yelled right under Qui-Gon’s ear, causing him to flinch. “Look at me! Look at me!”

            Like light caught in event horizon of a black hole, Qui-Gon was unable to resist the pull of the other’s demand. His head turned, his eyes opened, and his breath stopped. Blue-gray eyes stared into him, through him, gutting him like a scourge to his very soul. Qui-Gon felt his skin _burn_ under the icy glare from the eyes that stared back at him. It didn’t matter that this Obi-Wan wasn’t real. It didn’t matter that Qui-Gon knew he was hallucinating. It was all academic. Reality in the abstract. Useless philosophy against the sheer physicality he was experiencing.

            It wasn’t real, but it was real enough.

            “Are you afraid?” Obi-Wan sneered, his face so close that Qui-Gon could feel the heat of breath, of his skin. “Answer me!”

            “Yes!” Qui-Gon cried, his voice choked by a violent sob. He tried to lower his head, to turn away from the hate that spilled into him from the other man, but his jaw was clamped in vice grip, holding him in place.

            “You can’t run from me. You can’t escape me. You are _mine_ , Qui-Gon Jinn. I will never let you go.”

            “Please,” Qui-Gon begged. It was barely a whisper, nearly a brush of breath against the durasteel will of his oppressor, but with it came the weight of a desolate prayer. He repeated the entreaty, his existence condensed to that single word, a plea for something he didn’t know, couldn’t name. He just needed… he _needed_ …

            “Please…”

            A whip crack of lightning flashed across the right side of his face. A bloom of pain blossomed a moment later. He hadn’t even seen the hand that struck him, not that it mattered. He knew to whom that hand had belonged. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, half in preparation for the next assault, half in despairing surrender. Fingertips touched the warm, reddened spot on his cheek, but the touch was gentle not scathing, almost a caress, but that could not be so and somehow knowing that loosened tears from his eyes that Qui-Gon had not realize he had been holding back.

            “Master… no…” a soft voice called to him from beyond the veil of his closed eyes. “I don’t know what to do… tell me what to do…”

            Something in that voice pulled at him, made demands on him like before and, like before, Qui-Gon was helpless to ignore them. He slowly turned his head, opening eyes blurred and watery with his tears. Again, he faced blue-gray eyes, but this time the pain that accompanied them was seen and not felt. His skin didn’t blister; his chest didn’t ache. The only hurt that existed rested in the eyes that stared back him, reflecting a despair that was entirely his own and yet also wasn’t.

            “I don’t what to do…,” Obi-Wan continued, his voice cracking as he stared at Qui-Gon. “Tell me… tell me what to do…”

            Qui-Gon found himself caught in that blue-gray gaze as true as an insect in amber. What he glimpsed in those stormy depths was more than his own worn and wearied reflection, or at least more than his physical form. Painted on the shimmering canvas of iris and pupil was chiaroscuro of uncertainty, fear, and sorrow. How much of that was Obi-Wan’s? How much of that was his own? Was what he saw merely a reflection of his own churning maelstrom or was the younger man drowning in similarly turbulent seas?

            “Tell me what to do…”

            The softly spoken question called to him again and, for the first time since that night he cried into Obi-Wan’s cloak and gave himself up to the void, Qui-Gon experience a moment of luminous clarity.

            “Meditate,” he answered. “We meditate.”

 

*    *     *     *     *

 

            Something in Obi-Wan clicked. Like a switch forced into its opposing position after breaking through a lifetime of accumulated rust, he felt himself _shift_. It was not an unpleasant sensation, just unexpected and unaccountably familiar.

            He had felt off balance since Qui-Gon’s abrupt recovery, well… more off balance, a state he would have believed impossible were he not himself at the center of that impossibility. The silence that had descended once the stranger left them, his ominous message hanging heavy in the air, had seemed both pregnant and impenetrable. He had turned his back to Qui-Gon then, unable to find a way to bridge the distance between them despite their physical proximity. He had allowed his attention to turn inwards, selfishly attending only his own doubts and insecurities, without a thought or concern for what the older man, his former master, might have been feeling have so nearly escaped death. Thinking back on that now, his single-minded indifference shamed him. It was because of his narcissistic and narrow focus that Obi-Wan missed the older man’s first signs of distress. By the time the outside world penetrated the fog of his navel-gazing, Obi-Wan had turned to find Qui-Gon pressed flat against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, body trembling in fear.

            He had called out to him then, but Qui-Gon did not hear him. Obi-Wan stepped closer and called his name again, then a third time. He reached out to touch the man, but his hand froze in the air, halfway between their bodies as Qui-Gon’s head snapped forward, his eyes open and almost black, dilated with fear. And what had Obi-Wan done in the face of such abject terror?

            Nothing.

            Not a Sith damned thing. He stood there, mouth agape like a Nabooian gooberfish and did nothing. It wasn’t even until the poor man _spoke_ that Obi-Wan realized that Qui-Gon was caught in the grips of another hallucination. Finally broken from his paralysis, Obi-Wan had tried to reach Qui-Gon with calming words as he had successfully done before, but this time nothing was getting through. Whatever the other man was experiencing was too encompassing, too _real_ for anything Obi-Wan was saying to penetrate. And then Qui-Gon spoke again and Obi-Wan’s heart broke. Nothing else could describe it. Hearing this man, this Jedi Master _beg_ like some beaten and broken slave ripped something vital from his chest. Obi-Wan could only imagine it was his heart for with its loss his entire body went numb, ice water replacing the warm blood that had pumped through his veins only moments ago. But that was not surprising. It did not seem unusual to Obi-Wan that his heart could take such damage when it came to Qui-Gon. Nor did it seem odd to him that the grayness encroaching on his vision was the herald of death; after all, he had lost his heart and one could not live without his heart. But something did strike him as strange. Obi-Wan could not help but think it was profoundly odd that he was still able to move his limbs when, clearly, his body had decided to die.

            The sound of the slap cracked in the air like lightning. Obi-Wan’s hand still hovered in the air as he stared at it, scarcely believing what he had done even as the evidence of his violent act blossomed in a crimson patch on Qui-Gon’s cheek. Obi-Wan glanced between his hand and the stunned, reddened face of his former master. Blood beat against his temples, pounded in his ears like war drums, and in that instant, he _knew_ he still had a heart because he feared he might still lose it as it threatened to wretch itself free from his chest with its frantic and frenzied palpitations.

            Obi-Wan opened his mouth. Words came out. Desperate, pleading words. Words dredged up from his core, repeating like a mantra or prayer to anything, anyone that would listen. He didn’t care anymore. There was no pride left in him. There was nothing left in him save the incessant pounding of a heart too weary to go on, but too stubborn to stop beating.

            Then Qui-Gon, blessed Qui-Gon, spoke… and something in Obi-Wan clicked.

            “Will you meditate?” Qui-Gon asked, his voice soft almost deferential to Obi-Wan’s ears. That was not a tone he wanted to hear, not from this man.

            “I… haven’t… I haven’t been able to,” Obi-Wan answered. His face felt flushed as he directed his eyes to the floor, but a finger under his chin gently thwarted his efforts.

            “Perhaps… we can try… together?” Qui-Gon asked and, with a shyness he hadn’t felt since he was an initiate, Obi-Wan reached out a hand in offering. For a moment, Qui-Gon seemed surprised, but the expression soon settled into a quiet smile as Obi-Wan felt a larger hand rest comfortably against his.

            “Together,” he found himself repeating as the two of them settled down on the floor, legs crossed and knees almost touching. Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan a wry half smile and he looked up from where the two still held hands.

            “I do not know how successful this will be. Without the Force…” Qui-Gon’s voice trailed off and his eyes began to drift away from Obi-Wan’s gaze. Obi-Wan gave the calloused hand he held a squeeze bringing Qui-Gon’s attention back to his face.

            “I’m still willing to try if you are,” Obi-Wan replied and the joy that he saw light in Qui-Gon’s eyes warmed that space in his chest that only minutes ago he had sworn was dead.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Nkiro watched the monitor with genuine surprise. It was a sensation he had not felt often, though, somehow, these two seem to constantly defy his expectations – whether for better or for ill Nkiro had yet to determined. Jedi had often… perplexed him in a way that most… _what did they call them?_ Force users… Yes, Jedi perplexed him in a way that most other Force users did not. _And these two were not even Jedi_ , Nkiro thought with a smile that would not have been out of place on a particularly ill-mannered loth cat. He leaned back in his seat, lifting his booted feet and resting them comfortably on the shabby desk in front of him. A custom blaster spun in lazy orbits around a single raised digit on his left hand as he contemplated the scene displayed on the tiny screen before him. The gun spinning on his finger snapped to a stop in his open palm and his feet hit the floor with heavy thud. Nkiro leaned forward in his seat, his hawkish eyes narrowing as he watched the display. His guests were going to meditate.

            Interesting…

            It looked like these two might be ready sooner rather than later. Nkiro smiled and placed his feet back on the squat desk. It was a good thing. He was beginning to get bored.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            The Force was slow and thick around him, resembling not at all the sweeping, flowing currents that cradled him in the Temple. The Force was thick and nearly unreachable like a looming snow drift and if he dared to reach out to touch it, the power would melt in his hands and disappear into the ether. Instead of being buoyed in the effulgence, Obi-Wan was teased with the barest whisper of its presence, the feeling there, but insubstantial and hollow. Obi-Wan rolled his shoulders, stifling a sigh as he did so. There was no point in lamenting in what was not and could not be changed. That thought made Obi-Wan cringed mentally. Here he was complaining about the lack of depth in his Force touch when Qui-Gon couldn’t touch the Force at all. Obi-Wan shook his head as if to physically dislodge the selfish thoughts then he took three slow, deep breaths as he sought his center. At first his attempts were easy, just gentle, subtle efforts to fall into that place inside him that was calm and rooted in his being, but when that place continued to elude him, his frustration began to build, his staccato efforts morphing into an almost brutal search.

            “You’re trying too hard.”

            The sound of the gentle, yet rumbling baritone brought Obi-Wan immediately out of his current failed meditation. He opened his eyes to find himself staring into midnight blue eyes that seemed to hold both concern and amusement in equal measure.

            “How…?”

            “Whenever you were very tired or very distracted you would have difficulty centering yourself for meditation and a deep furrow would appear between your eyebrows. I’ve learned to recognize it,” Qui-Gon finished with a shrug.

            Obi-Wan’s mouth hung open for a second, maybe two, before he mastered enough of his senses to close it. His master, former master he reminded himself, seemed content and not at all unsettled at his failure to achieve even a basic level of meditative trance. Suddenly, a soft, but insistent pressure pulled him his self-deprecatory thoughts.

            “You need to relax,” Qui-Gon said softly as he used his thumb to smooth over the deep crease between Obi-Wan’s brows. “Don’t search for your center. Let yourself fall into it. It will find you.”

            “You said the same thing to me before…” Obi-Wan replied as looked up sheepishly from under a few stray strands of coppery hair. Qui-Gon took a single finger and moved the errant locks aside.

            “Then perhaps we should approach it the same way,” Qui-Gon offered as he shifted from a cross-legged position to one where his legs sat widely apart. Obi-Wan recognized the gesture for what it was, but still found himself hesitant to accept the invitation. The silence and stillness stretched between them, but Qui-Gon made no move to break either, simply waiting patiently for Obi-Wan to make his choice. That, in itself, made his decision for him.

            Carefully, as if Qui-Gon were still gravely injured, Obi-Wan moved to sit between Qui-Gon’s legs, his back pressed to the older man’s chest. It was a position well known to both of them since Obi-Wan’s padawan days and, despite his initial trepidation, Obi-Wan found the arrangement oddly comforting.

            “Now,” Qui-Gon began again and Obi-Wan could feel as well as hear the rumbling baritone and found that it soothed him even further. “Close your eyes and just let your mind fall into the Force. Allow yourself to be carried to that place where all is calm and light.”

            “Don’t think. Feel,” Obi-Wan muttered in response and he thought he could hear the smile in Qui-Gon’s answer.

            “Precisely.”

            No more words were spoken as the two former Jedi steadied their breathing, each instinctively seeking to match the other’s rhythmic inhales and exhales until they were on one accord. Obi-Wan allowed himself to relax fully, something he had not permitted himself to do in a very long time. The Force flowed more easily around him now. It still wasn’t the plentitude he remembered longingly from the Temple, but it was far more than the drips and dregs he endured during the past year. The Force warmed him, creating a pleasantly heated sensation in his core. He followed that feeling lightly, like a fallen leaf riding the gentle current of a slow-moving river. Without thought or conscious effort he sank into his center and unknowingly released a quiet sigh.

 

*    *     *     *     *

 

            The soft sigh of contentment uttered by the younger man made Qui-Gon smile despite his personal feelings of melancholy. Even though he could not see Obi-Wan’s face, he could feel the tension slowly leech out of the lithe frame pressed against him. The sigh had only confirmed his suspicions that Obi-Wan had found his center and was now deeply ensconced in the well of the Force. Though he was sincerely pleased that Obi-Wan had achieved this peaceful state, Qui-Gon could not deny the ache in his own heart at his inability to do the same. The separation was his choice and he knew that. He accepted that then and now, but… that did not make this particular moment any easier to bear when both the reason and the consequence of his decision was literally seated in his lap.

            Qui-Gon swallowed a sigh of his own that would have been decidedly less content that his companion’s and consciously focused his attention to his breath. It was a simplistic exercise, exceedingly rudimentary, but not wholly unfulfilling. There was a certain peace to be found here, in this moment. Qui-Gon only had to let his desires and expectations go. Not an easy task and certainly not one of any permanence, but in this specific instance, in the living singularity between heartbeats that made up the present, Qui-Gon could stop thinking and just let himself feel the joy of being with _this_ Obi-Wan again.

            Qui-Gon did not know how much time had passed since the two began their different meditations, but the stiffness in his legs and the numbness of his buttocks told him it had been quite some time. Uncomfortable as he was, Qui-Gon was loathe to move for fear of disturbing Obi-Wan’s. It was clear to Qui-Gon, even without the benefit of their now severed training bond, that the young man had been in desperate need of this communion with the Force and so he would do nothing that would potentially disrupt it. Unfortunately, their abductor seemed to have no such qualms.

            “Wakey, wakey sleepy heads!” the man shouted as he deactivated the rayshield and stepped into the small room. Even with the man’s abrupt entrance, Qui-Gon didn’t feel Obi-Wan stir until several heartbeats later, easily surfacing from his trance slowly and without a trace of startlement. The man moved to stand right in front of them, one hand resting casually on his hip the other tapping the blaster strapped to his thigh in an idle, almost fidgety movement that Qui-Gon knew to be an act. The coppery head in front of him tilted up, directly aimed at the being before them.

            “So, you’ve come for your payment then?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice more calm and measured and more in compliance with Qui-Gon’s memory of his padawan and not the man of the last few days. It also occurred to Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan had not moved from his position nestled against Qui-Gon’s chest.

            “Well, that is the way of things, is it not? Something-for-something, give and take, balance?”

            “Balance, hmm?” Obi-Wan repeated conversationally. “You know a great deal about us, but we know nothing about you. On balance, that is something that should be remedied, should it not?”

            The man’s head tilted to the side in an exaggerated gesture of consideration. A large grin spread across his lips until his expression was mostly teeth and mischief. Instead of responding immediately, the man turned and walked over to the far wall where he promptly settled himself into a comfortable, nonchalant lean, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs crossed at the ankle.

            “Have at it, Lucky. Let’s restore balance,” the stranger challenged. It was at this point that Obi-Wan moved from his position in front of Qui-Gon, an absence that the older man felt keenly, but said nothing about. Obi-Wan did not move far, however, taking a seat beside the older man. Qui-Gon turned to him and was met with blue-gray eyes that shone with some emotion he couldn’t recognize as it flitted too quickly across the ocean-colored irises. Obi-Wan then turned back to the stranger.

            “Who are you?”

            “For our purposes, you may call me Nkiro.”

            “ _What_ are you?”

            “Even if I told you, it wouldn’t make a difference.”

            “Humor me,” Obi-Wan replied. The stranger, Nkiro, closed his eyes for a moment, not long enough to be taken advantage of, but enough to appear as he were trying to remember something.

            “A Jedi faces the unknown with patience. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. Isn’t that what you teach brood? It is a very limited view of things, you know,” Nkiro stated as he stared straight at the two. Obi-Wan side-stepped the obvious bait and stayed on his chosen course.

            “You seem to know a lot about the Jedi. Were you once one?”

            The man smirked.

            “You limit your thinking. Perhaps I _am_ a Jedi,” the man replied. Qui-Gon heard Obi-Wan give a tiny snort.

            “Not bloody likely.”

            “Ah, the vehemence of youth. Now that _is_ a Jedi trait,” Nkiro replied, his remark capturing Qui-Gon’s attention.

            “And what of me? I am hardly a youth,” he asked in the same decorous tones he had employed in a lifetime negotiation missions. Nkiro pushed himself off the wall and stood straight as he replied, his grin disappearing replaced with an odd expression that defied Qui-Gon’s attempts to identify it.

            “You are all youths. Even your precious Order is but a baby bumbling its way through a galaxy of wonder you haven’t sufficient imagination for.”

            “The Jedi Order is over ten thousand years old!” Obi-Wan retorted, indignance apparent in his tone and raised voice. Qui-Gon placed a light, but stilling hand on the younger man’s arm.

            “My point returns,”Qui-Gon said interrupting smoothly. “With a history that long, you must concede that the Jedi Order is far past its infancy.”

            “Hardly,” the man replied without missing a beat. “The fact that you Jedi have been around for so many millennia and still have learned nothing of the Force proves your immaturity.”

            The man’s words hung heavily in the air even as a denial formed on Qui-Gon’s tongue. He did not know what Obi-Wan’s thoughts were at the pronouncement, he barely knew his own. Nothing in the statement sat well with him, but there was equally nothing, on some level deep inside him, that Qui-Gon felt was untrue. It was a very discomfiting feeling.

            “Ten thousand years, you say,” the man continued, “and yet you have failed to grasp the full nature or power of the Force you cling so desperately to.”

            “What do you mean?” Obi-Wan asked and, for a moment, it seemed to Qui-Gon that Nkiro’s expression took on a look of polite exasperation. Then the man’s now trademarked smirk returned.

            “Let’s try a different tack, shall we?” Nkiro said as he brought his gaze to Qui-Gon. “You believe your Force connection is cut, right?”

            Qui-Gon’s eyes narrowed slightly at the man’s choice of words, but he answered nonetheless.

            “Yes. My Force connection has been severed. I don’t see what that has,”

            “My point returns,” the man interrupted using Qui-Gon’s own phrasing. “You, in all your Jedi wisdom, have the arrogance to believe that you can destroy something that the Force created. You. Know. Nothing.”

            “I… It…,” Qui-Gon sputtered, uncharacteristically inarticulate. What the man was inferring was impossible… it was… it was impossible. “Are you… are you saying that,”

            “Your connection can be restored?” the man replied. Qui-Gon nodded his head slowly unable to completely tamp down the unreasonable and irrational hope that was worming its way through his gut. A moment’s pause then the man shook his head.

            “No,” he finished then before Qui-Gon’s expression had time to fall the man added, “your connection cannot be restored because it was never broken.”

            “But,” it was Obi-Wan this time that struggled with articulation. “The Council… they severed the connection.”

            “Did the Council _create_ the connection?” Nkiro retorted smoothly. The tale-tell furrow appeared again on Obi-Wan’s brow.

            “Of course not.”

            “Then how could they destroy it? Your own bond was created by the Force, but I suppose you think that’s gone too, hmm? Like I said, your understanding is infantile at best.”

            Silence followed for a long while as the two former Jedi separately tried to wrestle with Nkiro’s words. During that time, Obi-Wan never looked at Qui-Gon, presumably too wrapped up in his own thoughts to seek comfort from someone similarly discomfited. Qui-Gon, himself, was left thunderstruck by Nkiro’s philosophical premise. But it wasn’t purely philosophical, was it? The man had implied, no, stated that Qui-Gon’s connection both to the Force and to Obi-Wan still existed, but… he simply could not reconcile this pronouncement with a lifetime’s worth of certainty and the distinct _lack_ he could feel inside himself. Ironically, it was now most of all he wished he could feel the Force, to search its depths for the truth of Nkiro’s words, but of course he couldn’t and asking for truth would be a fruitless endeavor. There was only one way to bring any validity to the man’s claims.

            “Prove it.”

            That seemed to get the man’s attention as he glanced slightly wide-eyed back at Qui-Gon.

            “What?”

            “You said my connection, our connection still exists, prove it,” Qui-Gon answered calmly. Nkiro remained quiet for a few seconds before giving a curt nod.

            “Very well,” he answered then quickly crossed over to where the two men stood. Both immediately shifted their weight with his increased proximity, as if preparing for a physical confrontation. Nkiro rolled his eyes.

            “I thought we were over this.”

            “You did shoot me,” Qui-Gon replied dryly.

            “A blaster bolt between friends,” Nkiro shrugged. “Speaking of which…” he said as he pulled out his blaster and placed it against Obi-Wan’s head with what could only have been Forced enhanced speed. Both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan stood frozen where they stood, though Obi-Wan’s immobility had more to do with the weapon positioned at his right temple.

            “Now,” Nkiro began pleasantly. “Close your eyes and find the connection you share with this fine young man.”

            “We don’t have a connection anymore. I broke it over a year ago,” Obi-Wan protested though he still didn’t move.

            “Did the Force form it for you two on a world called Bandomeer?” the man asked and again Qui-Gon was astonished at the level of knowledge this man possessed about them.

            “Yes,” Obi-Wan ground out.

            “Then it’s still there,” Nkiro replied turning back to Qui-Gon. “Well then, get to it.”

            “And if I can’t?” Qui-Gon asked, his voice never wobbling despite his rising fear.

            “Then I suspect you are going to be very, _very_ cross with me.”

            Qui-Gon looked into Obi-Wan’s eyes expecting to see fear, but there was none. In contrast, what he _did_ see frightened him. The blue-gray orbs held resignation and an almost relief, as if a great burden would soon be lifted or a time of penance would soon be over.

            “Close your eyes,” Nkiro repeated breaking the spell that held Qui-Gon. With great reluctance, Qui-Gon did as he was told then he heard the man’s voice again. “Now, find the place inside your mind that is Obi-Wan.”

            Qui-Gon did not react to the man’s use of Obi-Wan’s name rather than calling him Lucky. Nkiro had already proven himself exceedingly knowledgeable about facts that he simply should not know. Their true names would have been the easiest information to gain after all and, more importantly, the fact that he did know their names meant nothing of consequence considering their immediate circumstances. Thus, Qui-Gon gave no reaction. Instead, he focused on trying to come up with a solution to their current predicament. His options were, of course, limited, but surely there had to be a way…

            “Focus,” Nkiro spoke interrupting his thoughts. “Stop worrying about how to save him and simply do it. Find the bond.”

            Qui-Gon opened his eyes, a thunderous expression on his leonine features.

            “It’s not possible. It’s not there anymore. I felt it die. I felt it ripped out my skull!” he yelled, not noticing Obi-Wan’s wince at his words.

            “And as long as you believe that, you will never find it.”

            “Then what do you want me to do?” Qui-Gon growled.

            “Believe something else,” Nkiro replied. The two men stared at each other for the span of several tension filled heartbeats before Qui-Gon backed down and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and this time he attempted to do as he was told. Qui-Gon allowed himself to search the shadowed corners of his own mind searching for what he knew wasn’t there. It was a ridiculous exercise, but it extended a precious time that was keeping Obi-Wan alive. As long as he kept searching, as long as he believed that what he was doing was keeping Obi-Wan with him then…

            Qui-Gon frowned.

            Was it really that simple?

            Qui-Gon pushed the incredulity from his mind. It had no place in his plan, ludicrous as that plan was. He took his faith in Obi-Wan and his steadfast determination that he would see Obi-Wan survive this encounter and rolled it into the conscious belief that, somehow, their bond still existed, that it had somehow survived yet had remained hidden from them. Qui-Gon threw everything he was into that feeling, that belief and refused to allow any other consideration, logic, or reason to invade the sacred space he carved for himself in his mind. He would not fail in this.

            _That_ was the only impossibility.

            Qui-Gon pushed. He dove. He delved as best he could into those darkened recesses in his mind. Places he did not go, places he no longer needed to go since his connection to his padawan and his Force sense had lain quiet. It was in one of these shadowy corners that he thought he saw something. A flicker. A tiny movement. A blink of light. It was so small, so quick, so subtle, Qui-Gon honestly wasn’t sure if he had truly perceived anything. Perhaps his desperation had inspired his mind to play tricks on him. But no! There is was again. In his mind’s eye, Qui-Gon turned his undivided attention to that tiny spark and to his utter amazement he saw the dim outline of a bridge, its path leading off into darkness.

            Then he felt it.

            Regret.

            Shame.

            Longing.

            Despair.

            Guilt. Tremendous guilt.

            He felt all of these at once, but what surprised Qui-Gon was that the emotions were not his. Qui-Gon took in a deep breath and pulled every bit of concentration he could muster into three syllables then he cast that powerful word down the bridge into the darkness.

_/Obi-Wan./_

            The response was surprisingly immediate.

            _/Master? How?/_

            _/It would seem our… friend was right. Our bond was still here all along. Oh, how I’ve missed you, my Padawan./_

            A brief pause.

            _/I’ve… missed you too, Master./_

            “Ah, you did it. Good,” Nkiro’s crass tenor rang out causing Qui-Gon to open his eyes. “For a moment, I thought you were going to disappoint me.”

            Nkiro stepped back and away from Obi-Wan, lowering his blaster as he did so. The other threw a murderous glare at the brigand, but his focus was quickly redirected to Qui-Gon who stood staring at his former padawan with beatific grin on his face. A similar smile crept across Obi-Wan’s features as he stepped forwards and nearer his old master.

            “I still don’t understand. I was certain I destroyed it.”

            “As was I and yet, here it is. Here we are,” Qui-Gon said softly then with a more serious expression he turned to Nkiro who had now reholstered his weapon. “For what you have given us, I will forgive you for shooting me and for threatening Obi-Wan’s life.”

            “That’s fair,” Nkiro smirked, but then his expression turned serious as well. “But I also saved your life and for that, I am still owed payment.”

            “You still haven’t said what that payment is,” Obi-Wan stated as he regarded their capture with somewhat narrowed eyes.

            “Ah, well that’s easily remedied. You will do to Qui-Gon what he did to you except this time you are going to save his life.”

            “What do mean?” Qui-Gon inquired stepping forward, a protective arm unconsciously sweeping out towards Obi-Wan.

            “What I mean is,” Nkiro replied with a wide, toothy grin. “Obi-Wan is going to get a chance to traipse around in that fabulously fucked up head of yours.”

 


	8. With Guarded Intent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You cannot defeat this demon on your own. You will fail.”  
> “It would not be the first time.”  
> “Indeed. Just the last.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Apologies! Apologies! I had no intention that it would be this long between updates! I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I hope this posting makes up for some of it. I had intended this chapter to be longer, but considering how long you have already waited, I decided to break it up into two parts so I could post this and keep working on the other half. Please enjoy and leave a comment!
> 
> Thanks to Maeve Pendergast, my wonderful beta. I couldn’t resist making some changes, therefore the errors are all mine.

            “What I mean is,” Nkiro replied with a wide, toothy grin. “Obi-Wan is going to get a chance to traipse around in that fabulously fucked up head of yours.”

            “You… You’re serious, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan all but stammered. Qui-Gon had yet to move from his protective position between Obi-Wan and their abductor. The former master drew himself up and crossed his arms, a pose that would have been far more intimidating had he still had his Jedi robes and cloak, but habit was not easily ignored.

            “What you are asking is impossible without my Force connection,” Qui-Gon said. When Nkiro opened his mouth to interrupt, he held up a hand and continued. “I know you say that my connection still exists, but if I cannot access it then the same problem still exists.”

            Nkiro remained where he was leaning on the wall, arms and legs crossed comfortably. He turned his head to the side and stared at the far wall in silence for several moments. Neither Obi-Wan nor Qui-Gon interrupted what appeared to be the stranger lost in deep thought. Finally, the trigger-happy man turned his gaze back to them.

            “He told me you were exceedingly stubborn and yet he still undersold it,” Nkiro said with a shake of his head. With the set of his jaw, his expression shifted from bewilderment to determination. “When faced with a lack of trust, a gesture of good faith is in order.”

            “What is it you intend?” Qui-Gon asked, his body language still radiating suspicion.

            “Here is what will happen. I will get you to rediscover your Force connections,” he began then he paused and glanced directly at Obi-Wan. “For both of you.” He turned back to Qui-Gon. “Then you will have a choice.”

            “What choice would that be?” Obi-Wan inquired in clipped tones, his earlier peace lost to Nkiro’s incessant mind games.

            “Whether Qui-Gon Jinn will live or die, of course,” Nkiro replied mildly then he moved. Obi-Wan would not have believed it had he not seen it with his own eyes. The man crossed the room faster than he had thought possible. It was a Force enhanced speed; that was certain, but it was incredibly fast even for a Force user. One moment Nkiro was across the room leaning casually against the wall and the next moment the man stood between Qui-Gon and himself, the man’s hands placed on both Qui-Gon’s and his chests. Before Obi-Wan could protest, before he could even form a thought, he felt the power of the man, Nkiro’s power, surge through him via the hand on his chest. Obi-Wan felt like he was being burned from the inside. Heat and light and raw energy ate away at his every cell. His entire being was irradiated. No part of him was immune. Even his non-corporeal sense of self was touched and charged with the fire emanating from Nkiro’s palm. And it was fire. Obi-Wan burned down to his bones and yet he felt no pain from the flames that ravaged him. To the man on fire, the experience had carried all the weight of an eternity, but some rational part of his mind still noted the effect lasted the length of the single ragged gasp pulled from deep in his chest the instant Nkiro touched him.

            And then it was over.

            The fire in his bones vanished instantly like a snuffed candle. Obi-Wan felt the hand leave his chest and he fell to the floor landing hard on his knees. He placed his hands on the floor, bracing himself as he struggled with the disorientation that had followed when Nkiro released him. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He pulled his attention inward once again filling himself with his own sense of self, restoring what was displaced during the pyrogenic purge. It was then that he felt it. A shudder passed through his frame and he gasped, tears welling in his eyes.

            “Oh gods,” he whispered. He closed his eyes and centered himself on the feeling of the Force flowing once again unbidden through his mind and body. He couldn’t tell if he should continue weeping or shout for joy. He settled for a bark of hysterical laughter. He leaned back on his heels still laughing, but then his eyes fell upon the prone, unmoving form of his former master and the laughter fled taking its momentary joy with it.

            “Qui-Gon!” he yelled as he crawled over to the older man. Qui-Gon was lying half on his side, half on his stomach, his hair loose and wild covering much of his face. Obi-Wan quickly scanned his body using his hands, his eyes, and the Force. He found nothing wrong. There was no injury, no damage he could detect. Obi-Wan carefully rolled his former master onto his back moving his head to rest on his lap. Qui-Gon breathed steadily and deeply, appearing to only be asleep, his face unmarred by pain or trouble. Obi-Wan moved the brown and silvered strands of hair from the leonine face he knew so well. Then he looked up at the man who was so much more than what he seemed. Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak, but Nkiro beat him to it.

            “He is fine, just in shock. He will wake in a few minutes.”

            “I…” Obi-Wan began his voice wavering “thank you for giving the Force back to us.”

            “Like I said, I didn’t give you anything, so I will just take that gratitude as thanks for helping you find it again,” Nkiro answered with shrug then his face grew exceedingly somber as he knelt a short distance away from the two former Jedi. “I helped you find your Force connection, but honestly I didn’t do you any favors. Your master there,” he said with a gesture to Qui-Gon, “now that he can use his Force sense he is in more danger than ever. And if you’re not careful, he will die. What I did just hastened that likelihood.”

            Obi-Wan stared at the other man wide-eyed. Anger, confusion, and panic all battled for supremacy across his expression. Confusion won out.

            “Why? Why is restoring his Force connection dangerous? Is it…” he paused glancing down at the unconscious figure in his lap. “Is it the shock?”

            “He’s haunted, is he not?”

            “Haunted?” Obi-Wan parroted in bewilderment.

            “He sees something,” Nkiro tried again. “Something that follows him? Seeks to hurt him?”

            “He… he hallucinates. He sees… he sees me.”

            “Yes,” Nkiro replied absently as he looked down at Qui-Gon’s still body. “That would make sense.” He turned his gaze back to Obi-Wan. “The hallucination has been gaining power, coming more frequently, seeming more real?”

            Obi-Wan nodded.

            “Well, now that Qui-Gon _knows_ he can touch the Force that hallucination will get even stronger. It was his ignorance that kept him safe until now.”

            Obi-Wan shook his head as he tried to understand Nkiro’s words.

            “Wait, are you saying that this… this hallucination is dangerous to him?” he asked. Nkiro’s expression became grave and his eyes took on a stern and frightening glint.

            “What I’m saying is now that he has the Force again, his hallucination, _you_ , are going to kill him.”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Qui-Gon felt good. It was an odd, unfamiliar sensation and he burrowed down into the comforting blackness that surrounded him in an effort to sustain the wonderful feeling. The last thing he remembered was first standing astonished at the incredible speed with which Nkiro advanced upon him and then falling to his knees when the brilliant fire of his Force sense rushed into him and burned through him. The overwhelming agony of his pleasure at its return brought tears to his eyes and then he remembered no more. There was just the blackness, the Force filled dark and him.

            And Qui-Gon was content with that.

            But change came, as it inevitably does, and the darkness around him began to thin. Qui-Gon could make out voices, but not the speakers. The darkness thinned further and the owners of the voices began clearer to him. Obi-Wan was talking to someone, but whom? The other speaker was familiar, but Qui-Gon was having a hard time placing it, then it came to him. Nkiro. With that thought everything returned to his memory and he knew he needed to wake. They were still in danger. Obi-Wan was still in danger. Qui-Gon needed to wake. Now.

            “Obi…”

            “Master?” the cultured response came quickly. Qui-Gon forced reluctant lids to lift and soon his sight was filled with the worried face of his former apprentice. The world was turned at an odd angle and he realized he was lying down, his head pillowed on Obi-Wan’s lap. A slow turn of his eyes found Nkiro on one knee only a short distance away. Obi-Wan’s voice pulled his attention back to the man that held him.

            “Master, are you alright?”

            “I…” he began but he paused to clear his throat then he began again. “I’m fine, I think. What happened?” he asked even as he used his own returned Force sense to take stock of his body. To his relief, he found no injury or noticeable impairment.

            “You fell into shock when the-”

            “When the Force returned to me,” Qui-Gon completed for him as he began to sit up. He felt Obi-Wan’s hand on his back offering him a steady support that was hardly needed but sorely welcomed. Sitting upright, Qui-Gon turned back to the kneeling man.

            “Who are you?”

            “A question requiring an answer you don’t have time for,” Nkiro answered his entire demeanor changed. Gone was the casual indolence that radiated from his body language and gone was the trademark and infuriating smirk that rarely fled his lips. But there was more than that. Qui-Gon could _sense_ him as well and what he felt was a pool of… quiet solemnity the depths of which astounded even the former master.

            “Master,” Obi-Wan called from beside him startling him out his own thoughts. “Nkiro believes you are in danger,” Obi-Wan said though his tone clearly conveyed to Qui-Gon that the younger man wasn’t entirely convinced at the other man’s assessment. Qui-Gon looked to Nkiro.

            “What sort of danger?”

            “This sort,” came the answer. Qui-Gon pulled his gaze to Nkiro’s left. Over the kneeling man’s shoulder, he saw Obi-Wan standing behind him. The expression he wore on his face was quite different from the one worn by the Obi-Wan at his elbow. A hallucination then. Qui-Gon closed his eyes.

            “You are not real,” he said firmly and instantly he felt the hand at his back tense.

            “That’s right, Master,” Obi-Wan affirmed.

            “That won’t work,” Nkiro replied. “Not anymore.”

            “He’s so right, Master,” came a hiss from some distance in front of Qui-Gon. “Open your eyes, dear Master. Face your fate with a little more spine.”

            Qui-Gon opened his eyes to find himself staring across the room at the Not-Obi-Wan. A deep cold settled inside himself falling heavily into the pit of him. He swallowed thickly and the Not-Obi-Wan smiled ferally.

            “What do you mean that won’t work anymore?” Obi-Wan asked. “He’s… it’s a hallucination. It’s not real!”

            “I’m real enough now,” Not-Obi-Wan answered. He raised his arm extending outwards towards Qui-Gon. “And now, now I will have my vengeance.”

            Suddenly Qui-Gon’s body was lifted swiftly off the floor and thrown into the far wall.

            “Master!” he heard his Obi-Wan exclaim, but there was no chance to answer the man’s desperate call as Qui-Gon was slammed into the ceiling with such force that all the air was knocked out of his lungs. The assault continued as he was slammed into another surface, then another, and another. Qui-Gon lost all sense of direction and orientation. He knew not what he hit until finally he was unceremoniously dropped to the floor. He hurt. Every portion of his body seemed alive with pain, but it was manageable, controllable with a little help from the Force. Qui-Gon struggled onto one elbow, but that was as far as he got as he was again slammed into a wall. He was held there, pinned against the flat of the wall, then he was choking. The invisible hand of the Force closed tightly around his throat slowly squeezing the very life out of him. Instinct drove his hands up, his fingers tearing desperately at his own skin in an irrational and pointless effort to pry the phantom fingers away from his neck.

            “We must do something! Help him!” someone yelled. Perhaps it was Obi-Wan, but Qui-Gon wasn’t sure. Sounds reached him like echoes, hollow and distant. The edges of his vision blurred, his field of sight narrowed as the dark encroached. Then suddenly, the Force grip was gone and he was dropping to the floor, his large frame sliding down the wall and collapsing in a gasping heap. Hands grabbed at him, real hands, but Qui-Gon could do little more than cough and groan his protest.

            “It’s alright, Master. I have you. I have you,” was whispered repeatedly in his ear; the familiarity of those cultured tones led Qui-Gon to cease his struggles and focus only on regaining his breath.

            “Thank you,” he heard Obi-Wan say above his head. “Whatever you did, you have my thanks.”

            “It won’t last. That was a very temporary fix.”

            “Then what do we do? It almost killed him! We have to do something!” Obi-Wan yelled. Qui-Gon could hear the near panic in the familiar tenor voice. His breathing somewhat under control again, he pushed himself into a mostly seated position against the wall.

            “How… How can a… hallucination do that? He used… the Force… how?” he managed between painful hitches. He must have broken a rib. Nkiro reached over and touched his side.

            “It’s a Force phantasm,” Nkiro replied not giving anyone the chance to interrupt even as he healed Qui-Gon’s ribs. “A concept that would take more time than you have for me to explain. All you need to know is that he _will_ return and he _will_ kill you.”

            “Unless?” Qui-Gon asked sensing the unspoken continuance of the man’s explanation. Nkiro nodded as he pulled away from Qui-Gon, the healing complete.

            “Unless, you do what a Jedi would not. Embrace emotion. Embrace ignorance. Embrace attachment then do as I said. Obi-Wan must travel into your mind just as you did in his.”

            “You’re mad. You’re out of your kriffing skull!”

            “Language,” Qui-Gon cut in smoothly. Obi-Wan shot him an incredulous look.

            “Really? My cursing is your biggest concern right now? He wants me to violate your mind!”

            “Obi-Wan-”

            “I won’t do it,” Obi-Wan interrupted his hand making a cutting motion to emphasize his declaration. “I won’t do it, Qui-Gon. I will not do that to you.”

            “It’s not a violation if I allow it and besides, we haven’t much of a choice in the matter,” Qui-Gon answered. He was careful to push away the hurt Obi-Wan’s words had caused at the mention of violation – for that is exactly what he, a master, had done to his own padawan. He had violated Obi-Wan, forced himself into the man’s mind. That the action saved his life didn’t change that fact and the anger in Obi-Wan’s voice served as testament to that truth. It was a truth that pained Qui-Gon to his core. Despite his careful shielding, Obi-Wan must have picked up on some of his feelings.

            “I didn’t mean it that way,” Obi-Wan said quickly looking into Qui-Gon’s eyes. “I know you only did what you did because you were trying to help me.”

            “Just as you are with me,” he replied softly.

            “But-”

            “No buts,” Qui-Gon interrupted. “If someone must see the depths of me without shields or secrets, there is no other person I would choose to do this but you. I trust you, Obi-Wan,” he said as he reached out and placed his hand over the younger man’s, but Obi-Wan pulled his hand away and stood walking a few paces away from where Qui-Gon sat.

            “What if I don’t want to? What if… what if I don’t want to see?”

            “Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon called after him, pulling himself to his feet with effort. Obi-Wan stood with his back to him. The younger man wrapped his arms around himself as if he were trying to ward off a present chill.

            “I already know about… him… how he is… me. I know I already should know everything by now, but… if I were to really see what you think of me… I don’t think I could bear it,” Obi-Wan replied his voice falling into a whisper. The year Qui-Gon had spent drowning in his own guilt and self-deprecating pain paled in comparison to the fresh wave of torturous despair that washed over him at Obi-Wan’s softly spoken confession.

            “There is nothing you should fear about what I think of you,” Qui-Gon spoke slowly. He paused swallowing thickly. “But, I will not force you to do what you do not wish. I will not do that to you again.”

            “Both of you say too little and listen even less,” Nkiro intoned. “If your chosen path is life then you must walk it now.”

            The three men stood motionless in an equally still silence for several heartbeats before Qui-Gon took a deep breath and broke the quiet with the words that needed to be said.

            “I will face my demons. Alone. There will be no more collateral damage because of my poor choices and failings.”

            “You cannot defeat this demon on your own. You will fail,” Nkiro said flatly. There wasn’t a hint of reproof in his voice, just certainty. Qui-Gon gave the strange man a rueful smile.

            “It would not be the first time.”

            “Indeed,” Nkiro replied. “Just the last.”

            “No,” Obi-Wan said interrupting the discussion. “I will do it.”

            “Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon started, but Obi-Wan held up a hand.

            “I’m doing this. End of story,” he answered firmly then Obi-Wan turned to Nkiro. “Let’s get started.”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            “How will this help, Qui-Gon? What do I need to do?”

            Nkiro settled himself onto the floor in a cross-legged fashion with an expression of serenity that would rival any Jedi. He gestured for both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to join on the floor, the trio forming an intimate triangle. Both men seemed exceptionally uneasy, the younger’s face frowning in discomfort, the elder sneaking surreptitious glances around the room in search of demons only he could see.

            “Only to face yourself and your conflicts, something neither of you have done before,” Nkiro answered smoothly. It was obvious to him that his words rankled the elder man, but to the man’s credit he didn’t dispute it. The younger man, however, was far from satisfied with Nkiro’s answer.

            “But how does going into Qui-Gon’s mind confront a hallucination only he can see? And what happened before? How was he attacked like that?”

            “Patience. Explanations can wait until after your task is complete or until Qui-Gon is dead and it no longer matters.”

            “And our task?” Qui-Gon asked decidedly not dwelling on the alternative Nkiro presented.

            “You will have to walk the dark corridors of your mind and heart and find your true self,” Nkiro answered. Qui-Gon’s brow creased in apparent thought. When the former master offered no question, Nkiro continued, his attention turning to Obi-Wan.

            “You will serve as guide on this journey. Guide. Anchor. Protector. The phantasm will try to stop you. Should it succeed…,” he trailed off with a shrug. “I doubt you will find the outcome acceptable.”

            Obi-Wan nodded rather sharply but said nothing. Nkiro looked to both men in turn.

            “The block I established will not last forever. Shall we begin?”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Whatever it was that Obi-Wan had been expecting, well… it wasn’t this. Honestly, he hadn’t given much thought to what exactly Qui-Gon’s mindscape might look like; at least he hadn’t before he agreed to explore it for himself. But once it had been decided that that was precisely what he was being asked to do, Obi-Wan had begun to think about it in earnest. However, even when consciously trying to imagine what he might see in Qui-Gon’s mind, Obi-Wan had very little inspiration. Something calm to be sure. Something steady and abundant with life and the Living Force. Perhaps his former master’s mind would be like a great forest or maybe an ocean of serene, crystal blue waters. Obi-Wan knew that while the landscape could literally be anything, whatever it was would be a direct reflection of Qui-Gon and his psyche. So, it was quite a surprise when he found himself and Qui-Gon standing outside a prison gate.

            Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon with a bewildered expression, but Qui-Gon was not looking at him. The older man’s eyes were fixed in front of him, locked on the massive metal gate and high walls that seemingly stretched to horizon line in either direction. Everything was dim and dismal. The massive prison was an impenetrable stone gray that rested on a barren ground littered with ash. There was light, but no sun as even the sky was in constant overcast. This place was a grave yard. That thought alone sent an unpleasant shiver down Obi-Wan’s spine.

            “Qui-Gon?” he called out quietly though as far as he could tell there was not a living soul around them. “Qui-Gon?”

            “Hmm?” the older man answered absently before turning around to face him with a surprised expression. It was almost as if Qui-Gon had forgotten he was there.

            “This is… different that I was expecting,” Obi-Wan ventured carefully. Qui-Gon turned his attention back to the main gate.

            “It is for me as well,” he replied. “When I was in your mind it was quite different.”

            “How so?”

            Qui-Gon turned his head so that he could look at Obi-Wan.

            “You don’t remember?” he asked. Obi-Wan dropped his gaze and gave a shake of his head. He heard Qui-Gon sigh softly. “I’m so sorry. I just assumed…”

            “What was it like? My mind…” Obi-Wan asked hesitantly. Qui-Gon turned his gaze away from him then, staring off into the bleak horizon.

            “It was the Temple. Every step, every column, every hall and garden, every detail was perfectly accurate. Being in your mind was like… being home,” Qui-Gon answered his voice dropping so low at the end Obi-Wan scarcely made out the words.

            “And this?”

            Qui-Gon brought his gaze forward to the immense stone walls that stood before them.

            “Despite the fact that we are in my mind, I know as little as you do about what we will encounter,” the older man replied. “However, I will admit that this… does not bode well.”

            “Well, just don’t get all defensive on me. I would hate for your subconscious to sniper us before we even get inside.”

            “Indeed,” Qui-Gon answered with a nod. Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the large gate doors in front of them. He didn’t see a palm or com panel or any other way to open the door or alert someone who could. However, before he could contemplate the problem further, a smaller door cut within the larger gate doors opened and a figure stepped out. The man was slightly taller than average, slim in build but fit. He was dressed in a nondescript guard’s uniform though Obi-Wan did not see any marks or logo to identify the prison complex’s owner or location. What he could easily identify was the name of the particular guard that greeted them.

            “Xanatos,” Obi-Wan hissed. He stepped forward, one hand reaching automatically for his lightsaber only to come up empty. A hand closed around his bicep holding in place.

            “Things are not always as they seem,” Qui-Gon whispered in his ear. “This is a construct, remember? It’s not real.”

            “A construct. Right,” Obi-Wan replied as he took a deep breath and allowed his suddenly tensed muscles to relax.

            “Warden,” the Xanatos-guard said obviously addressing Obi-Wan. “My apologies. I was unaware you had left the grounds.”

            “Um… no apologies necessary,” Obi-Wan stammered clumsily. If the guard thought anything was suspicious in his answer he did not show it, only giving a sharp nod in acknowledgment.

            “I will call a team to process the prisoner,” the Xanatos-guard stated eyeing Qui-Gon with a noticeable sneer. Obi-Wan stepped between Xanatos and Qui-Gon in an unmistakably defensive move. The Xanatos-guard’s brow furrowed, but he held his tongue.

            “That will not be necessary. I will take him in myself. Let us pass,” Obi-Wan said his voice infused with an authority he did not feel. It must have been sufficient because the Xanatos-guard snapped his heels together smartly and saluted before stepping aside and gesturing for the two men to pass through the same portal in the gate he had emerged from earlier. Qui-Gon walked closely behind and to the side of Obi-Wan as they passed into a large courtyard, their passage way narrowly lined with fences and razor wire.

            “So, it would seem the prison motif will remain the dominant theme here,” Obi-Wan mumbled as they walked. Qui-Gon stepped closer to the younger man.

            “Well, you at least seem to be welcomed here.”

            “Yes, as the warden of all things.”

            “Better than as a prisoner,” Qui-Gon offered. Obi-Wan’s lips thinned as they approached another set of massive doors. Snipers held positions above them. Masked guards patrolled the grounds all around them and oppressively high duracrete walls loomed over them. Obi-Wan shook his head then turned to Qui-Gon.

            “I have a bad feeling about this.”

 


	9. Together Playing Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Qui-Gon?”  
> “I need to go inside… I need…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am so so so sorry for the long delay between the last chapter and this. I was dealing with a lot of personal issues (as those of you who read Expectations already know) and in their aftermath, I found no motivation at all to write. I think now though, I am beginning to claw my way back into my literary self. As promised, I have no intention of ever abandoning any of my unfinished works, but I do beg for your patience. This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but it’s something, I hope.
> 
> A/N 2: Thanks to Maeve Pendergast, my wonderful beta. I couldn’t resist making some changes, therefore the errors are all mine.

            I have a bad feeling about this.”

            “For once, it is I feeling a share,” Qui-Gon responded as the two of them stepped through another large set of double doors and emerged from the narrow passage. Though still hemmed in by metal fences on either side, the two men could now see the large open areas that lay beyond. The open space on either side were occupied by dozens of roaming prisoners, each drifting across the prison yard shambling and hollow like the walking dead. One prisoner turned briefly towards the pair, his unfocused blue eyes passing briefly over them. Obi-Wan gasped.

            “You’re not just a prisoner here.”

            “I am _all_ the prisoners here,” Qui-Gon whispered, finishing Obi-Wan’s thought.

            “What do you suppose that means?” Obi-Wan asked as his eyes followed the back of the prisoner-Qui-Gon as he walked away from them and became lost in the endlessly milling crowd. Silence answered him as the two former Jedi moved along the narrow corridor. As the two drew closer to the large metal door that led into the prison proper, Obi-Wan glanced over at the man by his side, his brow creasing deeply as he did so.

            “Qui-Gon?” he called out, but when he received no response from the other man, he reached out and grabbed the taller man by his arm pulling him to a stop. Qui-Gon finally turned to him in response to the sudden contact.

            “What is it?” he asked, watching quietly as Obi-Wan searched his face intently before answering.

            “I was going to ask you the same question. Something… changed after you saw…” Obi-Wan began awkwardly, his voice trailing off as he gestured to the assemblage of inmates. “What were you thinking just then?”

            “Thinking?” Qui-Gon answered haltingly. “I was just…” He took another step forward pulling Obi-Wan with since the younger man had not relinquished his hold on his arm. Obi-Wan tightened his grip at the jolt forwards.

            “Qui-Gon?”

            “I need to go inside… I need…”

            “Qui-Gon, stop!” Obi-Wan ordered as he planted his feet and forcibly stopped the older man’s progress. “Stop right now!” he yelled and to his utter astonishment, Qui-Gon did. Some of the tension in Obi-Wan’s arm and grip waned, but he kept his hold on his master. Qui-Gon, for his part, looked the very opposite of tense. The taller man was… not calm, but passive? The downwards slope of his shoulders, the roundness of his upper back, the glances aimed squarely at the ground, or wall, or anything, anything except Obi-Wan simply radiated submission. It made Obi-Wan’s stomach churn uncomfortably below his ribs.

            Obi-Wan glanced up at the high doors before them and then back down the fenced corridor. He took a small step in closer to Qui-Gon, his grip shifting from the man’s forearm to his hand. He interlaced their fingers pulling Qui-Gon’s hand to chest.

            “Master?”

            The softly spoken title seemed to startle the older man out of his biddable stupor. Qui-Gon’s gaze lifted. He stared at Obi-Wan for a moment then shook his head as if to clear a fog that only existed in his mind.

            “What… what happened?” he asked after a short silence. He looked down at the hand Obi-Wan held clasped to his chest and then back up to his face. Obi-Wan, with a slightly abashed and guilty expression, let go of the older man’s hand his own falling limply to his sides.

            “I’m not certain. You seemed like you were in a trance of some sort,” he said with a shrug. “You were determined to go inside.”

            “I was?” Qui-Gon asked, his leonine features wrinkling and creasing in manner which told Obi-Wan that the former master was turning several things around in his mind.

            “You don’t remember?”

            “I…,” Qui-Gon began, but then paused his lips pressed into a tight line. “I only felt a… need, a compulsion to…”

            “To what?” Obi-Wan prompted when Qui-Gon faltered. The older man stayed silent a few heartbeats longer, apparently still searching for the words to express his experience.

            “I’m not sure, only that I need to go inside and yet, that is the last thing I want to do,” he answered then he turned a wry smile to his former apprentice. “However, I have a more than passing familiarity with dismissing my wants to attend to the necessity of the moment.” The reference to his master’s oft repeated phrase was not lost on Obi-Wan and he felt the corners of his mouth rise despite the seriousness of their situation.

            “Keep one’s concerns in the here and now, Master? Yes, I suppose that advice is a bit familiar to you.”

            “Brat,” Qui-Gon replied and ruffled the mop of hair of Obi-Wan’s head. Obi-Wan barely had time to process the affectionate gesture before Qui-Gon snapped his hand back to his side, his eyes once again downcast.

            “I’m sorry,” he said his voice lowered just like his gaze. Obi-Wan opened his mouth to say something, a denial of offense perhaps, but instead he stood there silently gaping, opening and closing his mouth like a fish desperate to return to his watery home. Before he could command his throat to utterance, the groaning wail of the prison’s heavy doors filled the air around them with a screeching cacophony of sound. Two guards stepped forwards, each identical from their uniforms, their faces, to their matching scars.

            “Warden, sir!” the Xanatos-guards greeted, snapping sharply from salutes to strict poses of attention. Obi-Wan hesitated for only moment before giving the two a short nod. He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin and turned to glance at Qui-Gon.

            “Let’s go,” he ordered though the command carried a wealth of meaning far greater than the two simple words seemed possible to convey. Qui-Gon seemed to understand giving the slightest of nods in response. Satisfied, Obi-Wan stepped forwards, but the left Xanatos held out his arm, his fingers pointed up in a clear “stop” gesture.

            “Warden, sir,” the guard began, his eyes drifting to his comrade and back again to Obi-Wan. The man was clearly uncomfortable confronting his employer, or at least the man he thought was his employer, and Obi-Wan felt no guilt in attempting to exploit that discomfort.

            “Make it quick, guard. I have business to attend inside and I find this delay irritating,” Obi-Wan snapped out harshly. In his peripheral vision he caught the right guard’s flinch, and before him, the left guard balked at his tone, but unfortunately the man held his ground.

            “Apologies Warden, but all prisoners entering the facility must have on binders.”

            “That will not be necessary,” Obi-Wan replied with an airy wave of dismissal. He moved, attempting to side-step the guard, but the Xanatos-guard only stepped in front of him again.

            “You overstep yourself,” Obi-Wan spoke, his voice pitched lower than before. The guards before him licked his lips somewhat nervously, but otherwise held his ground.

            “Warden, sir, please. The protocols are quite clear. _Your_ protocols are quite clear, sir. All prisoners must be bound.”

            “How dare,” Obi-Wan began with a shout, playing the role he was cast into with everything he had, but a softer voice to his left quickly ended what he had intended to be an award-winning dressing down.

            “I submit myself for binding,” Qui-Gon interrupted. He cast a quick, wry smile at Obi-Wan before blanking his expression and turning to the guard. He held out his arms, wrists held closely together. “I am a prisoner after all.”

            The guard seemed almost relieved with the development and quickly jumped into action removing a pair of binders from his belt and moving towards Qui-Gon, but this time it was Obi-Wan who stepped in front of him.

            “I shall do it.” His voice was flat. His authority unquestionable. The guard handed his warden the binders and stepped back to his position at the door. Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon. He looked at his upturned wrists and then to the binders in his hand. He raised his gaze to face that calm expression, resignation clear in those midnight eyes. He placed the binders on those broad wrists, the cuffs sealing with an ominous click.

            “Let’s go.”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Nkiro studied the still forms in front of him. Both men, young and elder, wore expressions that were not quite serene, but at least showed far less of the anxious tension that lined their features mere hours ago. He took a deep breath and with it release a bit of tension within himself. This was the correct path, the only path really. This was what he had been commissioned by the Jedi to do – to facilitate the healing both former Jedi needed.

            His brow wrinkled. Neither Jedi nor former Jedi has truly understood what it was they were requesting. And he had taken on the project, the challenge really, in spite of their collective ignorance. All things could be broken, all things broken could be repaired. But repaired did not mean restored. A cup, once shattered, may be made to again hold tea, but the damage – the fragile lattice work of cracks, the tiny spaces left empty from pieces not again found – would leave the cup different from what it once was. Useful, yes but different always. Sometimes the difference was too much. The remade thing no longer recognizable to its owner. This was the true risk in attempting what he, what they all were attempting.

            A quiet sense of uneasiness began to creep up Nkiro’s spine and into his thoughts. It was a feeling he had not felt in quite some time. Doubt. The Force’s Will was clear and there was no hesitation within him to not follow it, but he did have doubts.

            Would these two recognize their remade selves? Would they remember they could still hold tea?

            Nikro consciously relaxed his lined face, smoothing out the wrinkles in brow and letting go of everything, including his doubt. It was an easy thing, done with the simplest of breaths and the gentlest of intent. He would know soon, one way or another.

            He closed his eyes as he focused his attentions on everything and nothing. The floor beneath him was hard and cold turning his buttocks numb. He noted it and then ignored it. The air in the cell was… cluttered, full of dust and other tiny particles seeking to obscure and muddle the breath. It too was noted and then ignored as were a thousand thousand other things – sounds, smells, tastes, and sensations – all noted. All ignored.

            All ignored, save one.

            Nkiro tilted his head as he heard… no, not heard. He felt… something. A weight on the edge of his senses. A shadow passing over into full eclipse. He opened his eyes and looked up to the one staring down at him.

            “Interesting.”

 


	10. Submission Acceptance Rejection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You cannot stop me. You haven’t the power.”  
> “No, I cannot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello again! Still trying to get back in the groove with things, but maybe just maybe my muse has returned. This chapter is a bit longer than the last and with any luck this trend will continue. We’re getting close to the end!
> 
> If you are seeking happy endings and fluff, turn away now.  
> Thanks to Maeve Pendergast, my wonderful beta. I couldn’t resist making some changes, therefore the errors are all mine.
> 
> Thanks to Maeve Pendergast, my wonderful beta. I couldn’t resist making some changes, therefore the errors are all mine.

            “Interesting,” Nkiro said as he opened his eyes and met the gaze of one seemingly irate but not possibly _there_ young man. “I would not have thought you yet powerful enough to materialize so fully.”

            “What _are_ you?” it asked as it stared down at Nkiro through narrowed eyes. The flamed-haired man shrugged, his relaxed posture never changing and his eyes never leaving the image before him.

            “Far more than you think and far less than I am,” he replied earning a scowl from the not-there-Man. It spun quickly on its impossibly booted heel and began to walk the length of the room in slow strides. Not quite pacing, but prowling.

            “Your riddles do not impress me, old man.”

            “Then I should count myself fortunate they are not designed to do so,” was Nkiro’s calm reply.

            “You cannot stop me. You haven’t the power,” the not-there-Man snarled. Nkiro briefly bowed his head.

            “No, I cannot.”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Qui-Gon kept his eyes down as he and Obi-Wan moved silently down long corridors, the gray duracrete monotony only broken by security check points and frequent double doors. Every step they took was followed by the eyes of the ubiquitous Xanatosian-guards. It was a constant struggle to remind himself that this was only a construct; that he wasn’t really here and that he really wasn’t a prisoner. But then… again, wasn’t he?

            Obi-Wan came to halt suddenly and Qui-Gon forced himself into a graceless stumble to avoid bumping into the other man. They had reached another checkpoint. The binders on his wrists jarred with the sudden movement. How could such small things feel so heavy? The manacles weighed on him, pulling him down towards the earth like gravity itself. His shoulders rounded under the strain. His posture hunched. His head and eyes followed, too burdened to waste precious energy in attempts to look up.

            Qui-Gon stared at the white tiles beneath his feet. Each square a perfect replica of its neighbor. Indistinguishable. Unextraordinary. Each one a piece of an unremarkable whole. A nameless one among many. A prison of conformity.

            There was a tug at his elbow and he forced himself to look up.

            “Qui-Gon?”

            Was that his name? The Warden was addressing him so it must be. Wait… no. It wasn’t the Warden, it was Obi-Wan. Yes. Yes, Obi-Wan! He remembered now. They came here together to… do… something. Something important. Qui-Gon searched his memories trying to determine what exactly that _something_ was, but he couldn’t find it, couldn’t pin it down. Obi-Wan was still staring at him. Oh, that’s right. He hadn’t answered his question. What was the question?

            “Qui-Gon?”

            Uh oh. He was calling him again. He’d better answer. Qui-Gon licked suddenly dry lips. He stared at the blue-gray eyes that seemed to burn into his soul before quickly averting his eyes to safer subjects like plain, white floors.

            “Yes, Warden?”

            Silence then. Perhaps he said the wrong thing. Should he have called him Obi-Wan? That didn’t seem right. And the guards were listening too. The guards with the familiar faces.

            “Are you… are you well?”

            “Yes, Warden.” Yes, he would stick with that. It was the best answer. The safe answer.

            “Warden,” he heard from somewhere to his left. A guard. “There is a call for you in your office. We can take the prisoner from here.”

            “I wanted to speak with him. There are things he must answer for,” he heard Obi-Warden reply. _Obi-Warden_? Qui-Gon shook his head. He felt… fuzzy. Was he supposed to feel fuzzy?

            “Of course, sir. You can see him once he has been processed.”

            The hand was back on his elbow. Belatedly, Qui-Gon realized that it had never left. How odd. Another tug, but this time he didn’t look up. After a moment, he felt a touch, a warm breath at his ear followed by soft words.

            “I will be back for you. I promise. Don’t lose yourself in here, Master. Wait for me.”

            The words he understood, but they didn’t quite make sense. Of course, he would wait for Obi-Wan. He would always wait for him.

            “Yes, Warden,” he replied with a dip of his head. He still didn’t look up though. Those blue-gray eyes burned him. No, he didn’t like seeing those eyes one bit. The warm hand left his elbow and others took its place. Instantly, Qui-Gon missed the Warden’s gentler touch. The guards were rough, snatching him forwards causing him to stumble.

            “Careful! I don’t want him damaged.”

            “Yes, Warden,” one guard answered and Qui-Gon was grateful. The pressure of the grips eases somewhat and the group’s pace slows. As they march him away, Qui-Gon feels that he has forgotten something but as he watches the white tiles pass beneath his feet, he forgets that too.

 

*     *     *     *     *

             “Why do you interfere?”

            Nkiro glanced at the two men still deeply entranced that sat before him. Their expressions had not changed. Satisfied with this, he unfolded himself from his lotus position on the floor and stood, carefully swiping his trousers for non-existent dust and straightening his short jacket. He was aware of the not-there-Man’s constant gaze, but he continued his unhurried movements. Once his clothing was suitably set to rights, Nkiro took a few steps back until he was leaning comfortably against the wall, his boots crossed at the ankle, his arms crossed over his chest.

            “Who’s interfering? I’m just enjoying a quiet moment with some friends.”

            “This one,” the not-there-Man scoffed as he pointed to Qui-Gon, “doesn’t have any friends. Not anymore.”

            A single flame-colored eyebrow raised.

            “Is that so?”

            The not-there-Man then walked over to stand behind where Qui-Gon sat in deep meditation. He ran long, elegant fingers through the other man’s silvering hair, carding through it like a master might stroke a beloved pet. Qui-Gon did not stir from his trance, but his face suddenly tightens into a grimace. A direct contrast to the possessive smile that formed on the not-there-Man’s face. The stroking hand reached further, sliding down to cradle the leonine face. The motion was almost tender, but the agonized lines that raced across Qui-Gon’s features spoke of anything but welcomed intimacy. Maintaining his detachment was child’s play, but part of Nkiro, a very small very nearly forgotten part of him, rebelled at the clearly unwanted contact.

            “Your doing I suppose?” he asked and the not-there-Man inclined his head, a knowing smile – and if Nkiro were honest about it a creepy smile – still perched on the man’s face. The not-there-Man leaned further down, his long, thin, and beaded braid falling over his shoulder. It dangled beside Qui-Gon’s ear reminding Nkiro of a pendulum; whether it was the kind that cut minutes or cut men, he wasn’t quite sure.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            “Qui-Gon?”

            Obi-Wan had had a bad feeling from the moment they stepped into his former master’s mind and that feeling had been getting progressively worse the deeper they moved into the prison complex. Ever since that frightening moment just outside the doors where Qui-Gon seemed entranced by some unseen force, Obi-Wan had suffered an extreme disquiet and had settled into watching the other man like a hawk-bat.

            And what he had seen since then did nothing to assuage his growing apprehension. The moment Qui-Gon’s hands had been bound something had changed. His former master seemed to… shrink. His posture became stooped, bowed, submissive. He avoided eye contact with everyone, including Obi-Wan and he remained utterly silent. With each new hallway, each security stop, the older man seemed to withdraw into himself and Obi-Wan had no idea what to do to stop it. They were never left alone. Guards were everywhere. Each of them a stunningly perfect replica of the former fallen Padawan.

            The whole place made Obi-Wan’s skin crawl.

            But, it was the stumble that really got his attention. They had come to yet another security checkpoint, but this time the last of the double doors had not immediately opened, causing Obi-Wan to come up short in surprise and Qui-Gon to nearly bump into him. When he moved to turn to a guard to inquire what the problem was, he caught a glimpse of his former master and knew something was unquestionably _wrong_ as the man stared silently at the floor. He had called to him then and touched his arm. When he received no response, Obi-Wan’s anxiety grew into proper panic.

            “Qui-Gon,” he called again and this time the elder man looked up at him briefly before darting his eyes back to the floor. And when he finally answered it was with a meek “yes, warden.” Obi-Wan’s worry ratcheted up several notches even as he tried to remember that they were both playing a role. But either Qui-Gon was a far more brilliant thespian than Obi-Wan ever gave him credit for or this was becoming no act at all. 

             “Are you… are you well?”

            “Yes, Warden.” Again, the emotionless, meaningless “yes, warden.” If Qui-Gon were simply speaking to deflect unwanted attention from the guards then… well, there was no real problem, but Obi-Wan didn’t believe that for a second. Something was well and truly wrong, but he had no way of asking what the problem was surrounded as they were by a hostile audience. Maybe this was a poor idea. Perhaps he should signal to Nkiro, somehow, that they needed to emerge from Qui-Gon’s mind before Qui-Gon lost himself to the prison construct of his psyche. Just as Obi-Wan began to contemplate just _how_ he would accomplish such a thing, he thoughts were interrupted by the approach of yet another guard.

            “Warden,” the new guard called. He was dressed slightly different from the rest, his uniform trimmed in gold and a single chevron on his right sleeve. “There is a call for you in your office. We can take the prisoner from here.”

            A sharp bolt shot up Obi-Wan’s spine. It was a clear warning that he was _not_ to leave Qui-Gon alone. He searched frantically for some excuse to keep Qui-Gon at his side that would not raise too much suspicion.

            “I wanted to speak with him. There are things he must answer for,” he said, hoping he was able to infuse his voice with the type of commanding gravitas his master had always managed so easily. The guard gave a short nod and, for a moment, Obi-Wan thought the battle won.

            “Of course, sir. You can see him once he has been processed.”

            Obi-Wan allowed himself a heartbeat’s worth of panic before shifting his thoughts to Qui-Gon. He tugged a little on the arm he still held, and when the older man didn’t look up, he tugged again this time leaning forwards and close to the man’s ear.

            “I’ll be right back for you. I promise,” he whispered. “Don’t lose yourself in here, Master. Wait for me.” It was an oath and plea both, and Obi-Wan only hoped his words and Qui-Gon’s promise would be enough.

            “Yes, Warden,” Qui-Gon replied with a shallow dip of his head, but Obi-Wan couldn’t see his eyes, couldn’t tell if he had truly been understood. But there was nothing for it. The guards immediately stepped forwards, forcing him to step aside. They grabbed his former master, harshly pulling him through the door with such violence that the older man stumbled in their grasp. 

            “Careful!” Obi-Wan yelled, then when one of the guards looked at him in confusion he quickly added. “I don’t want him damaged.”

            “Yes, Warden,” the senior guard answered apparently satisfied with his superior’s explanation. The guards continued to hold Qui-Gon, but the jerking and snatching motion ceased and Qui-Gon was able to walk easily down the hall despite the guards’ constant grip. Obi-Wan watched as the group moved away from him, leaving him alone with the remaining two guards. As he watched his former master disappear around a corner he prayed to Nkiro, the Force, and anything that would listen that he would see the man again.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            “This one belongs to me. He always has and now,” the not-there-Man said as he brought his hand back to the crown of Qui-Gon’s head. He closed his hand drawing it into a tight fist, brutally pulling the older man’s hair with it. “Now, he always will be.”

            Nkiro could only watch as the ex-Jedi’s face first went rigid in a rictus of pain, then slack and expressionless. Qui-Gon’s body slumped slightly, though the not-there-Man still held him by his hair. A moment later, that grip was released and the ex-Jedi’s body unceremoniously crumpled the short distance to the floor. The not-there-Man’s gaze followed the ex-Jedi’s body to the ground before sliding his gaze over to his left. Nkiro followed the path of the phantasm’s eyes and straightened up, pushing himself off the wall and stepping forward in one smooth motion.

            “Stop.”

            The not-there-Man’s hand held still hovering slightly over Obi-Wan’s head. He looked up and met Nkiro’s stare, a gleam in his not-there-eye.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Obi-Wan allowed a guard to lead him to what was presumably his office. He kept his gaze mostly aimed at an indefinite middle distance hoping to give off the impressionof being lost in thought rather than being lost in the maze of corridors. In truth, the former Padawan was taking in everything the pair passed. Nothing he saw, however, was helpful.

            Qui-Gon’s “prison” was entirely unremarkable. Cold slate grey and too bright white were the only colors to mark any surface. Even the guards themselves, dressed in a slightly darker shade of the omnipresent gray, began to blend in with the general stolid oppressiveness of the building itself.

            “Not a building. A mindscape. None of this is real,” Obi-Wan muttered to himself. His guard escort suddenly stopped and turned to face him.

            “Warden, did you say something?”

            The guard’s sudden inquiry startled Obi-Wan though he was able to quickly suppress his surprise from years of training – training he thought he had forgotten. Still, it bothered him that he had, rather inadvertently spoken aloud. He glanced at the guard, Xanatos, who was still looking at him with a casual, but cool concern. There was nothing in the expression or posture of this young man that reminded him of the Xanatos of his memory.

            The Xanatos he watched die. Choosing to throw himself into a vat of acid rather than concede defeat at the hands of his former master.

            _Their_ former master.

            No, this figment was not Xanatos, though he wore his face – crystal blue eyes, silky dark hair, and that damnable half-circle scar. No this… thing was a construct, a manifestation of Qui-Gon’s greatest failure, his greatest regret.

            Obi-Wan’s knees wobbled for a single moment prompting a nearly imperceptible sway. _He_ was now one of Qui-Gon’s greatest failures. Is that why he was so easily accepted into this gray place? And not just as a guard, but as the warden. The ultimate individual responsible for keeping Qui-Gon trapped here. Obi-Wan’s stomach lurched violently at the thought and he swayed once more and to far more noticeable effect. The guard reached for him, lightly taking his elbow.

            “Warden? Are you well?”

            “I… I just need to sit down a moment,” Obi-Wan replied, relieved that his voice only sounded a bit tired instead of laden with the full-blown despair and guilt that was running fiery circuits in his gut. The touch on his arm firmed and he felt himself being steered through another hallway.

            “Of course, sir. Let’s get you to your office. Just this way, sir.” A few quiet moments passed, then the guard brought them both to a stop. Never releasing his hold on Obi-Wan’s arm, the guard reached into his pocket and pulled out an ident-card which he waved in front of a small rectangular panel. The panel chimed and the guard placed the card back into his uniform pocket as the door before them slid open. He stepped inside pulling his warden with him. He led his employer to a well-worn, high back chair that sat empty behind a large desk whose surface was mostly covered in datapads and stacks of flimsi. The guard carefully lowered his warden into the seat before stepping back and giving the man a once over. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, the guard snapped to attention, offered a crisp salute then turned sharply on his heel and left the office. The door slid closed behind him.

            Obi-Wan barely took note of any of it. He felt cold, shocky, and more than a little nauseated. Obi-Wan raised two trembling hands to his face covering his too pale features and blocking out external stimuli, a least for a few precious moments. He forced himself to inhale deeply, holding his breath for several seconds before releasing it in a slow, drawn-out exhale. He repeated the exercise four more times before lowering his hands to rest flat against the desk’s surface. He kept his eyes closed a moment more as he willfully, almost forcefully, shifted his center into a state of calm. He opened his eyes and took stock of the room.

            It was a simple office: a cluttered, over-large desk, a pair of plasti-cast chairs, and several storage cabinets all in various states of compromised capacity. A blinking light to his left caught his attention. Obi-Wan stood, his knees still a bit weak and rubbery, but he managed the few steps it took to reach the room’s comm station. He pushed the activation button and waited for the call to come through. To his surprise, it was not a call at all, but a text only connection. The screen blinked once then the words began to appear on the screen and Obi-Wan’s breath caught in his throat.

**You are too late.**

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            “We both know you can’t stop me,” the not-there-Man smirked as he twitched his fingers over Obi-Wan’s head. Nkiro’s head tilted slightly to his left as if he were considering the image before him.

            “This one is not yours,” Nkiro replied. The not-there-Man glared at him for the span of several heartbeats… well, what would have been the span of several human heartbeats had either of them been human.

            “You cannot touch him.”

            The not-there-Man’s hand withdrew as he took a step back from the two ex-Jedi. Obi-Wan sat upright, his expression unchanged, his body completely motionless oblivious to the world and to the events unfolding around him. Qui-Gon lay pale and still on the floor beside him.

            “No, I can’t touch him… here,” the not-there-Man answered. Before Nkiro could reply the not-there-Man was gone, only the shadowy weight of his threat remained in the room with the three men. Nkiro knelt in front of Qui-Gon. He touched him on the temple, but Qui-Gon did not stir. He then turned to Obi-Wan. The young man’s expression was unchanged. Nkiro reached out to the young man’s temple, but just as his fingers would have reached the him, Obi-Wan’s brow wrinkled. Nkiro’s hand hovered in the air between them as he continued to study Obi-Wan’s face. He was just about to finish the movement, to close the distance between the two of them when, suddenly, Obi-Wan opened his mouth.

            And screamed.

 

           

 


End file.
